


All That’s Left is You

by walkingivy



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Rick Grimes, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexual Daryl Dixon, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Past Lori Grimes/Rick Grimes, Post-Season/Series 02, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2019-11-21 16:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18144575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkingivy/pseuds/walkingivy
Summary: ‘There was no way Daryl was going to be able to relax enough to get any sleep with Rick’s arms wrapped loosely over him. But he wasn’t going to get any rest shivering and cold, either. At least this way, he wouldn’t get sick and Rick would have a chance to sleep. “Tell anyone ‘bout this an’ I’ll gut ya.”Rick didn’t call him out on the obvious lie, nor did he point out that there was no one to tell. Instead, he agreed and solemnly stated, “I promise I won’t tell anyone we cuddled.”’When the farm falls, Rick and Daryl are separated from the group with only a fledgling friendship between them, but when your whole world narrows down to one person, nothing can really stay the same. Slow burn Rick/Daryl.





	1. The Farm Falls

Everywhere Rick looked, there was chaos. The barn was completely ablaze, which provided enough light to thoroughly see the extent of the unfolding scene. Walkers poured into the yard like a movie had just let out beyond the fence, surrounding the house and the barn with a throng too thick to properly search. Bodies were scattered over the ground, still and writhing, alive and dead and… undead. The yelling, gunfire, and engines were attracting even more Walkers that flowed in like an endless wave from the fields and the dark treeline beyond. Rick knew that Jimmy was dead. He’d seen a few others struggling, and vehicles take off, but it was impossible to tell who had made it and who had gotten bit in all of the confusion. The only thing he knew for sure was that Carl was alive and safe in the front of the truck with him and Hershel. 

 Slowing down a bit as he circled toward the exit, Rick’s eyes dashed around the lawn and screened for anyone still alive as his ears strained to hear. He parked and dove out of the car before he had time to contemplate his decision, shouting over his shoulder for Carl and Hershel to stay put. Carol was alive, just a little beyond the wood fencing. She was, by some miracle, uninjured, crying and dodging Walkers as she ran for the truck, but she wouldn’t stay that way for long with the herd closing in around her, and she had neither the training nor the weapons to fight back and buy herself that last bit of distance.

Sprinting around the fence, Rick pulled a spare clip from his pocket and reloaded with a haste that would probably have replaced his personal best, before halting in his stride when he saw a decomposing hand clutch into Carol’s shirt and tug her off balance. He took a steadying breath, mindful that he would be firing directly beside the woman’s head as she struggled with her attacker, and he could very well hit her. But there was no other option. Rick took the shot. And then the next, and the next, until he’d cleared enough space for her to run. He jogged a few steps further and did it again as more Walkers swarmed in from different angles to join the frenzy. 

“Come on!” Rick shouted encouragement as they were about to meet in the middle. He raised his gun once more as the newest set of Walkers closed in around them, only to have it click. Empty. He cursed, taking a few more steps and yanking Carol forward by her arm, pulling until his body was between her and the majority of the herd. Rick used his other hand to holster his gun and draw his knife, planting it in the head of the nearest Walker. If he could clear out just a few more, he’d be able to slip away right behind her. With a shout for Carol to keep running, Rick turned and stabbed a second and third Walker in quick succession. 

Another corpse had sneaked in close from his side while he dispatched number four. Rick jerked sideways, narrowly avoiding a bite to his shoulder from the unexpected attack, before twisting and stabbing the Walker that had nearly ended him in a smooth arc toward the head. He stepped backward to regain his balance and was jostled by the other Walkers who sent him tumbling to the grass, two of the recently killed falling on top of him. 

A sharp, stabbing pain in his thigh wrenched a wail from Rick’s throat before he managed to contain it. He couldn’t see what had happened, but it felt like a flaming spike had just been thrust straight through him. The world spun, blackness threatened to overtake him, but Rick pushed it back, choking down his agonized screams so he could face the ongoing danger. Rick stabbed the first two Walkers that stumbled toward him to take advantage of his pinned state. Their added weight drove him further onto whatever was impaling him and made it difficult to breathe, air too limited to even cry out properly. Their scent, however, masked him well enough that no more Walkers attempted to reach him, and Rick took the opportunity that had presented itself to pass out.

 

=============


	2. Left Behind

Rick woke up with a groan of pain. Everything hurt, and despite the soft surface he lay on, he was sore all over, sharp pain radiating out from his thigh, and bright light stabbing into his head. He could breathe easily again, but the smell of death and decaying flesh hadn’t disappeared. 

A hand clamped over his mouth just as soon as he’d made noise and for a second, Rick’s groggy brain insisted that it was a Walker grabbing him. He reached up to pry off the offending limb, but the hand was warm and not constricting him, and a familiar voice whispered in his ear that he had to stay quiet, repeating the phrase over and over in different ways until it permeated. Rick let go of the hand and nodded. The hand disappeared, and Rick immediately turned his head to look at Daryl, who was a whole lot closer than he anticipated. Of course, he knew that the hunter had to have been very close to have whispered in his ear, but Daryl was always so insistent on keeping his space that the closeness still managed to be surprising.

Daryl raised his eyebrows expectantly while Rick contemplated the dozens of questions he had. But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was, “I have to pee.” 

The tiniest smile quirked onto Daryl’s mouth before disappearing. He shifted to the opposite edge of the bed and carefully made his way around the mattress to help Rick stand up. He noted that his shoes and pants had been removed and leaned forward to try and see his injury. Shreds of plaid cloth wound around his leg right where the greatest pain was, probably a shirt torn up for bandages, and a small red dot had started to bleed through.

“Keep most of yer weight on me, but don’t hop. I don’t think either of us would enjoy havin’ to redo yer stitches.” Daryl instructed quietly, pulling Rick’s arm over his shoulders and looping his other hand around his waist, gripping firmly near the hips. “An’ don’t step on the junk on the floor. ‘S there to mark squeaky boards.” 

Rick glanced around the room for the first time, noting that there were several used strips of cloth littering the otherwise clean bedroom floor in a manner that looked haphazard. If Daryl hadn’t mentioned it, he’d have assumed they were nothing more than a careless disposal. Rick noted the queen sized bed that dominated the room, the dresser stationed directly in front of the door and three Walker corpses tucked into corners by the doorway. He caught sight of the sole frame that still stood on top of the dresser, recognizing a teenage Maggie. They hadn’t left the farm, then.

Daryl tugged gently to get Rick moving, but his legs were jello. Any pressure on his injured left leg was agony, but even his right leg felt weakened and uncooperative. Rick immediately gave up on any previous notions about maintaining his pride or being self sufficient, and took Daryl’s advice to let him carry most of his weight. He leaned into the warmth of his side heavily, shuffling along towards the closed door that he sincerely hoped was a bathroom and not a closet doubling as a bathroom. He hadn’t been into every room in the farmhouse, and he didn’t recognize this one. Sheets had been draped over the bottom half of the windows to keep their movements hidden inside while allowing sunlight to stream in from the tops, so Rick couldn’t be sure exactly where they were or what was going on, but he was willing to bet that Daryl had picked a room upstairs. 

The door did indeed lead to a bathroom that had no other entrances. Rick frowned when Daryl turned him away from the toilet and steered him to the bathtub, prodding him slightly until he was leaning against the wall. “Something wrong with the toilet?” He asked before Daryl could slip away, noting that there was a bucket in the tub as well that had a distinct and unpleasant smell that immediately gave away its usage. 

“Mmm. Flushin’ is loud an’ makin’ it overflow sounds like a terrible plan.” Rick didn’t think he’d ever get used to Daryl leaning in close to him so that his barely audible words could be made out. But Daryl was nothing if not pragmatic, and he’d rather be uncomfortable than do something that was so obviously a bad idea. Hence the bucket.

Rick turned to the task at hand, confident that Daryl had given him privacy even if he hadn’t been able to make out his footsteps. Rick had to go badly enough that he probably wouldn’t have hesitated to pull it out if Daryl had chosen to hover and keep talking in his ear. He shook his head at the thought and carefully aimed to make the least amount of noise possible. 

Finished, Rick shifted until his back was pressed against the cool tile wall and looked towards the door. Daryl had been politely turned away and standing mostly outside the bathroom. Sensing eyes on him, or more likely hearing him shift, Daryl returned to his side and helped Rick back to the bed. “We’re still at the farm.” 

Daryl nodded. 

“How long was I out?”

“Jus’ over two days.” Daryl said it blandly but the declaration sent a spike of fear through Rick.

“What happened? Is anyone else here?” Rick swallowed several times, fighting the urge to cough and clear his throat, which would negate all his efforts to keep quiet.

“Just us.” Daryl whispered before lowering him back onto the mattress. He took a glass of water off the nightstand that Rick hadn’t even noticed and pressed it into his hands. Rick drank eagerly, only then noticing how parched he felt, until Daryl tugged it down and forced him to take a break. He figured he’d probably been drinking too quickly, and Daryl was attempting to make sure he didn’t get sick from it. The glass remained in his hands as the hunter sat down beside him, pressing close against his good side so they could keep the conversation as quiet as possible. “Everyone else cleared out as soon as they could. Saw Patricia’s body out there, but that was it. Most of the vehicles are gone, so I figure there’s a good chance they’re safe.”

“Carl was with Hershel in the red truck. Maybe Carol, too. You know if it got out?” 

“Yeah.” Daryl nodded. “Saw ‘em leave. Saw Carol get in, too.”

“At least that’s something.” Rick muttered, slouching. He was mostly relieved that Carl got out, that Hershel would be there, at least, to take care of him, and that he hadn’t let the boy jump out of the car and run to Rick as he laid there piled under Walkers. But he couldn’t help how much he ached at the knowledge that he didn’t know where Carl was or how they’d catch up to him. “You see Lori?” 

Daryl shook his head. “But I didn’t see her body, neither, so that’s somethin’.”

“Shane’s dead. Jimmy’s dead.” Rick contributed, watching as Daryl simply nodded and accepted the information. He didn’t ask about Shane, even though he’d looked like he had so many questions when Rick had gone off with Shane to look for Randall that he hadn’t asked then, either. Rick was just grateful that he wasn’t facing a temper and accusations.

“Randall was dead an’ turned, but he weren’t bit. His neck was broke.” 

Rick took another drink of water, slower, and appreciated the way his desire to cough had evaporated. Daryl hadn’t said that Shane broke Randall’s neck, but the implication was practically audible. He wondered how much Daryl knew or had at least guessed about the situation with Shane. At what point had Daryl realized that Shane was a danger to their group? Probably while Rick was still in denial about his best friend’s transformation, but possibly even earlier. He’d never gotten along with Shane, but he didn’t bring up his concerns because despite the way everyone was growing closer, Daryl still viewed himself as an outsider. And the kicker was that for all Rick had grown to appreciate his skills, his perceptiveness and his loyalty over the days following Dale’s death, he’d spent most of his time since waking up from his coma attempting and failing to repair his marriage and his friendship with Shane and intentionally keeping the redneck on the sidelines because of his temper and sour attitude. He wasn’t making that mistake again. He’d make sure Daryl had all the information, even if it led to uncomfortable questions. “Shane turned without a bite, too.” 

“Mmm.” Daryl grunted as he stared at the wall thoughtfully. 

Rick took a drink of his water as he waited for the inevitable questions about Shane’s death because saying he was dead but not bit was as good as admitting to the murder. Guilt bubbled up under his skin as the silence went on, and Rick realized he wanted to explain what had happened, wanted to defend himself against the accusations in his own mind, regardless of what Daryl wanted to know. “I killed him.”

“Figured as much.” Rick turned to Daryl and frowned. He didn’t expect sympathy for losing his best friend when he’d been the one to do the act, but he’d thought some sort of emotional reaction was appropriate at hearing someone admit to killing one of their own, even if Daryl hadn’t liked Shane, but it seemed that the hunter had already assessed and accepted the situation. Daryl shrugged. “I know all ‘bout lettin’ bullshit stick ‘round to keep the peace; Merle is my brother, ya know. Don’ mean ya don’t smell it. Figured ya let him take ya out so’s ya could clean house ‘fore someone else got killed. Ya don’t gotta feel guilty ‘bout protectin’ you an’ yers. He had more chances than he deserved.”

Rick wanted to say more, to explain further about all of the clues he’d dismissed, the way Shane had attacked him when they’d gone to drop off Randall. He wanted Daryl to understand how much he’d struggled for alternatives and hadn’t even made a real decision, even when he’d thrust the knife forward to save himself, had walked with Shane with intentions only to talk it out. He wanted to shout how Shane had never been like this before, how he’d been a good friend to him for years, and how desperately he missed the camaraderie they’d shared. Rick just wanted the guilt to ebb enough that he didn’t have to see the light dim from his best friend’s eyes or hear the gurgle of him choking on blood playing on an unending loop. But Daryl had already surmised the situation in a relatively accurate way without additional input from any parties who had been there and openly approved of the outcome. He even attempted to assuage Rick’s guilt over an act that could never really be forgiven. And while part of him wanted to beg Daryl to tell him again that he’d done the right thing, there wasn’t anything more to add to this topic that would make a difference. So instead he leaned further into Daryl’s space so he could take comfort in the warmth he felt along his side. The archer didn’t shrink away or stand up to avoid contact as he’d half-expected, and Rick allowed himself to enjoy the physical and emotional support. “Jenner said we’re all infected. Everyone will turn when they die no matter how they die.”

“Hmm.” Daryl’s expression soured. He’d probably guessed as much, if not before, then certainly after seeing Randall and learning about Shane, but obviously didn’t like having those sorts of suspicions confirmed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Rick finished off his water. He held the cup between his knees so he wouldn’t be forced to break contact to set it aside. He’d always been a tactile individual, and touching was helpful to feel more grounded, reminding him that he wasn’t alone in this mess. Daryl had diligently avoided contact with others unless it was necessary since Rick had met him, so he was probably making the other man uncomfortable. He decided that Daryl was plenty capable of moving if he didn’t want to be there. Which reminded him of the other question that had been bugging him. “Why are you here, Daryl?” 

Daryl shrugged. “Couldn’t get back to my bike, ‘specially not haulin’ you. Weren’t so many towards the house since the fire kept ‘em distracted.” Rick looked towards the bodies of the Walkers in the room with them. There were three in this room alone, probably following him inside and up the stairs. He must have had a hell of a time getting through the herd with Rick acting as a deadweight. It was a miracle neither of them were bit. Daryl followed his gaze. “Don’t smell so good, but I think they cover our scent well enough. The herd has been thinnin’ down some anyway.” 

Rick shook his head. “No, I mean, why did you come back for me? Wasn’t likely I’d be alive under a pile of Walkers like that, let alone not bit. Wasn’t worth it to risk your life on those kinds of odds.”

Daryl shrugged, but he seemed to be collecting his thoughts as opposed to refusing to answer. “Carl tried gettin’ outta the truck. Hershel an’ Carol struggled to keep him in. Could hear him screamin’ even with everythin’ else goin’ on.” He grabbed the empty glass from Rick’s loose hold and set it on the bedside table before situating himself back on the bed slightly further away. Rick took the hint and let him keep his distance. His heart went out to his boy, and he wanted to hear every detail. “But they drove off. Weren’t no Walkers near ‘em, neither. I stopped close, jus’ to get a look. Most of the Walkers had wandered a bit ‘fore I got there. Jus’ a couple ‘round. Figured I had a minute, maybe two ‘fore there was too many on me. An’ that was enough time ta check, so I could at least give him that. So he could know for sure what happened. Know you wasn’t runnin’ ‘round turned. ‘Cept, I got there an’ heard ragged breathin’ an’ Walkers don’t breathe.” 

Rick resisted the urge to reach out, knowing that the gesture was more of a comfort to himself than to Daryl. Instead, he just did his best to make sure the hunter knew exactly how sincere he was when he said, “Thank you. You saved my life.”

Daryl twitched and nodded before changing the topic. “Ya landed on some metal pipin’. Guess it was part of a faucet or somethin’. Was a bitch pryin’ ya off ‘fore we got surrounded. Thought we’d use this room ‘cuz of the water an’ all, but there weren’t no medical supplies in here. Found a sewin’ kit an’ managed to stop the bleedin’, but gotta watch for infection still.” Standing, Daryl scooped up a box from its position under the bed and placed it at the foot of the mattress before dropping a throw pillow on top of it. “Better be checkin’ that anyway. Lay down.”

Rick complied easily, propping himself up on his pillow and swinging his right leg onto the bed before attempting to lift his injured one. He cringed at the pull of torn muscle and choked back the vicious swears that popped up in the back of his throat. Daryl was already there with one hand bracing his ankle and the other just above his knee, taking the weight of his leg and sliding it into position with his foot braced on top of the box. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was infinitely better than the pain of trying to lift it himself, and Rick could see that the angle allowed Daryl to reach under his thigh without having to shift his position more. “Fuckin’ hurts.” 

“Yeah, there’s a lot of damage.” Daryl muttered as he gave up on loosening his own knots and carefully sliced through the fabric with his hunting knife. “Didn’t seem to damage the bone, so consider yerself lucky. Can’t afford ya laid up for months.”

“Fair point.” Rick conceded as the pain ebbed enough to prop himself up on his elbows to see the injury. The thread was purple and clearly visible against the red, irritated skin. The stitching was surprisingly neat, and Rick was glad he’d been passed out for it. “That ain’t infected?” He asked hesitantly.

“Nah.” Daryl answered as he very gently wiped at the wound with a wet cloth before looking it over again. “Jus’ irritated from the stitches. Don’t feel over-warm.” When he was satisfied, Daryl knelt and repeated the process on the underside of the leg. His hands were warm and gentle, but the sensitivity of the injury ensured that it was still painful. He sighed in relief when Daryl was finished and carefully bound the area again with strips from clothing he must have made earlier. “The underside looks a little worse. Should try sleepin’ on yer side or stomach if ya can manage that. The bleedin’s stopped an’ there ain’t much drainage. Thought it’d be much worse when I first saw it.”

“I am lucky.” Rick declared when everything was finished. With the same careful movements from earlier, Daryl helped him rest his leg back on the floor and sit up properly. “I’m very lucky you’re here with me.”

“Ain’t nothin’.” 

Rick wanted to press it so his friend knew how much he meant the compliment, but Daryl was already twitching in discomfort and studiously avoiding eye contact. He let it drop. “We’re not precariously balanced on a single support beam, are we?”

“Huh?”

“I thought a herd that size would have torn down this building for sure.”

Daryl sat back down beside Rick so they could keep their voices as low as possible. “So did we. That’s why everyone skedaddled. But the fire y’all set in the barn changed their trajectory. Most of ‘em went for the barn an’ shuffled off from there ‘stead of headin’ for noise an’ the people in the house.”

“Even more useful than I thought.” Rick nodded, pleased that the decision had been more helpful than crazy.

“Mixed bag, really.” Daryl grunted. “The misdirection was useful for the house an’ gettin’ people out of here, but it attracted an awful lot of attention. Burned a long time, an’ prolly drew in more Walkers than we woulda seen otherwise. Also seems to have kept ‘em wanderin’ ‘round here longer. Sure didn’t help when the RV exploded.”

“The RV exploded?!” Rick only barely remembered the importance of their whispering in his surprise.

Nodding, Daryl moved to help Rick stand who gladly accepted the assistance. They teetered over to the window and carefully pulled aside the makeshift curtain to view the yard. The barn was no longer burning and was little more than blackened timber leaning in a vaguely square shape. The RV was hardly recognizable parked behind it with most of it torn to shreds and large pieces of metal strewn about the yard. There were dozens of Walkers loitering around the yard, and undoubtedly more further out and on the other side of the house. They were spread out well enough that one could probably run through them without too much trouble if nothing slowed the process down, but Rick could barely stand and was not going to have any hope of outrunning them. “Was parked by the barn, prolly caught fire an’ exploded when the flame reached the fuel line. Didn’t know if I should be impressed or worried that ya slept through it.”

“There anything to eat?”

“Not much.” Daryl confessed, helping Rick back to the bed before sorting through a satchel he must have been wearing when everything went down. He removed a couple cans and a handful of loosely wrapped jerky. Still, Rick was glad for it as his stomach grumbled unhappily. He wondered if Daryl had eaten at all since he’d dragged them into the room or if he’d planned to save it as long as possible. With Daryl, it could go either way since he understood the necessity of keeping up his energy, but was also quietly self-sacrificing, trying desperately to help others while avoiding any attention for his actions. The only thing Rick could be sure of was that there was no point in asking Daryl since he wouldn’t feel guilty about lying. Rick reached over and grabbed the jerky, splitting the pile into four. It made the amount disappointingly small, but he’d be glad for the food later. He scooped up a pile for himself and gave one to Daryl. “I also found a couple chocolate bars stashed in the dresser.” 

Rick grinned. “I’m in favor of splurging on one of those to commemorate my return to consciousness.” Daryl seemed pleased with the idea as well, retrieving the chocolate and refilling the water glass, which they were apparently sharing. “So, the RV is out of the picture, but you could bring your bike right up to the porch while I wait inside and then we can make a dash out of here. There’s still a good long while before it gets dark.”

Daryl didn’t respond for a while, taking his time chewing, then sipping on the water, before turning to the cop with a sigh. “Even if that idea wasn’t awful, we couldn’t do it. I left it idlin’ when I went to check on ya, an’ since we were forced this way, I never turned it off. It jus’ idled ‘til it stalled out, most likely when the gas was gone.”

“They’ve got farm equipment and a generator here. I’ll bet there are cans of gas somewhere, probably in the basement. We fill her up and get going.”

“Rick, ya can barely stand an’ ya can’t walk without help. Ya need more time to heal. We need more time for the Walkers to clear out. I need more time to collect some supplies. A few days for the Walkers an’ a few days for prep. I can make it to the highway on foot an’ bring back a car for the gear we collect.”

“We can’t wait that long.” Rick tried to keep his anger in check at the notion of falling so far behind his family. He just needed to make it clear that they were falling behind. “Our people would have headed back to the spot where we kept supplies for Sophia. It’s the only common reference we have. They’re not going to be able to wait there for long.”

“They’ve already left!” Daryl declared, tense and agitated. Rick figured this was the point in time when the redneck would generally be yelling, but that wasn’t an option, so he was just leaning in closer and spitting out harsh whispered words. “They think yer dead. They wouldn’t have waited.”

“But they knew you weren’t. They’d wait for you.”

“Not for two days on that highway. ’S the direction the herd came from. ‘S a straight shot back to the CDC an’ Atlanta where hundreds of thousands of Walkers are roamin’ without food. That’s prolly where the herd came from an’ it’s prolly jus’ the beginnin’. There’s no way they woulda stayed.”

Rick tried to curb his anger and frustration, knowing it was at the situation and not at Daryl pointing out the situation. He took a deep breath and tried to think about it logically. That spot on the highway was their only frame of reference outside of Atlanta and the farm. Since both of those would have been too dangerous, they must have met up there. But Daryl was right, they wouldn’t have been able to stay, even knowing that Daryl was coming. Hell, Daryl wasn’t winning any personality awards. They may have even just assumed he’d split. But assuming that they met up there and assuming that they believed Daryl would come… “They must have left a note there of where to go next.”

Daryl certainly didn’t look convinced by the idea. “‘S possible.”

“So we can’t wait days while we’re falling behind.” Rick already had a good idea about what Daryl was thinking. Even if they had thought to and had time to leave a note behind, there were still numerous Walkers surrounding them, which made Rick’s every move dangerous, and they currently had no supplies and no transportation, which made following their group suicide. And even though Rick was undeniably the leader, his injury made him dependent on Daryl and so the hunter was the one with all the power in this situation. And from the look on his face, he was not afraid to use it. Rick wasn’t entirely sure that the proud, standoffish, redneck would bend to his decisions on a normal day, and today, Rick was at ten different kinds of disadvantage. There would have to be some serious compromising. “All right. We’ll go as fast as we can without unnecessary risks. Can’t find our people if we’re dead.”

Daryl looked surprised by his sudden change in response, and he was definitely listening. The resolute defiance faded from his face, and Rick realized that his protests were all, in one way or another, about safety. He nodded for Rick to go on.

“We’ll get some good rest tonight and decide together in the morning if it’s safe enough for you to make a run past our guards here. You’ll get to the highway and find a car to bring back here. While you’re there, you should scout for any signs of our friends or any messages they may have left us. If you can get some sort of distraction set up to pull off the rest of the Walkers here, we could leave right when you get back. I won’t be doing much more than sitting and driving, so I can keep healing while we’re on the move.”

“‘Kay.” Daryl agreed with a surprising quickness. “But we need to gather as much as we can ‘fore we take off. They’ll be hurtin’ for supplies when we catch up.”

 

========


	3. Breaking Out

Daryl wasn’t sure if Rick had a hard time with his new assignment of sleeping on his stomach, or if he was unable to sleep after sleeping so long, or if he was just uncomfortable sleeping beside a man. On the last count, he could sympathize. He’d never slept beside anyone outside of Merle before, but he’d be damned if he was sleeping on the floor when there was a perfectly acceptable half a bed available. He could really do without Rick’s eyes boring into the back of his head, though. It was making it difficult to sleep. “Think I liked it better when you was passed out.” He finally grunted without turning around.

“Sorry.” Rick muttered. 

Daryl sighed and shifted until he was facing Rick. He almost immediately regretted it because he hadn’t counted on how close that would bring them together and his whole body  itched to get away from the contact. He ignored it in favor of keeping his voice at a whisper. “More ya sleep, faster ya heal. So sleep.”

“I’d love to. My brain doesn’t want to turn off, though.”

Daryl frowned. He was shit at comforting people. Last time he’d tried to comfort, he’d just ended up yelling instead. Was this the point in time where he told Rick not to worry, that his kid would be fine? Didn’t seem very honest. No one was fine anymore. “Then stop starin’ at least. No sense in us both bein’ exhausted.”

Rick averted his eyes, turning his head in the opposite direction, and Daryl rolled back over. He absolutely did not feel guilty. Rick may have lost his best friend and his family a second time just weeks after finding them, but at least they were mostly still alive. Probably.

If Daryl inched back until he felt the press of Rick’s arm against his back, it was just because the bed was too damn small for two grown men. It didn’t have anything to do with how Rick kept reaching out to touch in an obvious attempt to comfort himself. 

 

======

 

Daryl awoke before Rick and just after the sun. Rick was snoring very lightly behind him, dead to the world, even as Daryl shifted next to him and got off the bed. He patted around the room, leaving water, food, make-shift bandages, and a loaded gun at the bedside table, but still Rick didn’t stir. He likely hadn’t been able to fall asleep for several hours with all the worries chasing around his head and would be conked out for a long while yet. 

After, Daryl padded over to the window and pulled aside the sheet that was doubling as a curtain. The Walkers milling about below hadn’t thinned overnight. He hadn’t expected them to. After the barn burning slowed down to only embers, a large wave of Walkers had left together, shambling off as a group towards a noise or perhaps just the hope to encounter more food. But an even larger chunk had meandered around the farm, taking down fences and killing off the horses and the cows, but finding the place entirely satisfactory to stay. 

Daryl figured it was something like the First Law of Motion. Once Walkers started going, they just kept heading forward until they found something to eat, picking up more to add to their numbers as they went. But a Walker at rest stays at rest until another enticement acts upon it. Barring a very loud noise someplace near enough to grab their attention or a particularly tasty looking group of survivors ambling by, Daryl figured the remaining Walkers were unlikely to move on on their own. 

This left him with a rather unfortunate problem because while he could probably make it at a dead run going from the front door to the treeline, and then keep enough momentum to stay ahead of any of the Walkers that decided to keep on his tail, it was still a risky maneuver, particularly since any option he had for leaving the house would likely draw in some unwelcome attention before he even made it to the ground. 

The fact of the matter was, it was going to be dangerous leaving the farm, and it wasn’t going to get much safer before they ran out of food. He knew that Rick would draw the same conclusions, but what he didn’t know was whether he would want to send Daryl out anyway. Would Rick see the danger and forbid Daryl from leaving, possibly dooming them both in the process? Or would he be so determined to reach his family that he’d send Daryl out with a vague hope that he’d succeed? Daryl wasn’t sure which response he’d hate more, so he decided not to give Rick any input at all and got himself ready to leave.

Prying open the window, Daryl slipped out onto the roof of the porch as quietly as possible. He didn’t dare exit through the door and leave his friend asleep unguarded with the barricade down. He’d left him with his own rations and the room silent and stinking with the hope that should he fail, Rick might stand a chance trying to get out in a few more days. Once Daryl was outside, he shut the window behind him and swung his crossbow onto his back before slinking towards the corner of the house. He remembered seeing some of the siding was decorative squares and perfect for climbing, assuming it would support his weight. 

It was surprisingly easy to reach the roof where Daryl stood and surveyed the area. Most of the Walkers were still clustered near the stables, but there were a decent number spotted throughout the yard. He crouched and considered his options. There were too many for him to fight off by himself, and even with Rick’s help, they’d still be overwhelmed. He could return to the room and cut open the dead inside and attempt the trick Rick had used with Glenn to get out of Atlanta. He dismissed it reluctantly. It was too big of a risk with the several open wounds he’d sustained while wrestling Walkers and trying to get Rick into that room. Thankfully, none of them were bites or scratches, but he shuddered to think of what could happen if some of the Walker blood slid between his own sets of stitches. 

In the end, he had no better ideas than creating a distraction and making a run for it. He crouched on the roof for a minute, soaking in the warmth of the rising sun and taking in the view. If you ignored the growling below and the fetid smell of death, the farm remained as peaceful as the days that they’d spent hoping it was some sort of oasis, untouched by the horrors of the world around it. He’d known it wouldn’t last, but it had been nice to buy into Rick’s optimism for a while. 

Daryl prowled forward to the edge of the roof opposite the woods and the highway beyond, looking around for a suitable diversion. As he inched towards the gutter, his foot slid, and a couple shingles went tumbling to the ground. He nearly lost his balance, scraping his palms on the surface in an effort to regain traction, but thankfully didn’t topple to the ground. He cursed at the attention it drew, but then realized that it wasn’t all bad. He pried up more of the shingles from the damaged patch and started hurling them across the lawn. They thumped and drew in more Walkers towards the back of the house, and he diligently tried to see if he could clock them in the head while working on the distraction. It wasn’t really any more effective than his presence at drawing them in, but he was working on a substantial group of undead interested in eating him clumped up beneath him on the back entryway. Daryl hoped that he wouldn’t cause more to try and enter the house, but it couldn’t be helped at this point. 

When the group look sufficiently misled, he climbed back over to the other side of the roof, careful not to slip on the loose shingles, and went down the decorative lining. There were still a significant number of Walkers milling around, but the closest had already been drawn to the back of the building, and he felt confident that he’d have enough time to make it to the grass before he could be surrounded. 

Until the siding broke beneath him, and Daryl tumbled to the ground with a hard thud and drawing far more attention than he’d expected with the creaks and crashing of boards. He surged to his feet, ignoring the discomfort in his wrist and ankle and sprinting for the woods. He was absolutely going to have a talk with Hershel about house upkeep if they ever managed to catch up to their group. He didn’t care if the piece was decorative and not meant for a fully grown man to climb, he still intended to plant this entire disaster on the vet. 

Daryl ran.

His ankle was caterwauling below him that he should absolutely stop, but it was keeping his weight, so it wasn’t broken. At worst, he figured it was a sprain, and he had bigger issues to worry about. He pushed himself, but it was slower going than he’d anticipated, and the Walkers further out were starting to reach him. He didn’t want to slow down, but he didn’t have another option. He yanked out his knife, twisted and stabbed the nearest Walker in the head. It rattled back through his wrist, so he grunted and switched to his left before taking down the next one, and the next. 

Daryl could feel his window of opportunity closing as he was brought to a near halt just past the barn. There were more coming, a lot more, and he needed to get out of there before they reached him. 

And then he picked up Rick’s voice, shouting and yelling out the window from the house. Daryl could see the group that had been following him split off and turn back towards the new noise. Daryl worked at finishing off the last of the ones surrounding him, glanced up at Rick, who was too far away to make out clearly, and then turned and ran again. 

As his feet pounded against the earth, he couldn’t help but think how stupid that had been of Rick. There were still enough Walkers there to tear down the house if he got them riled up enough. There were plenty to break down the bedroom door if they squeezed into the upstairs hallway. He pushed the thoughts away and ran faster. Rick would be fine. He had to be. There was nothing else Daryl could do for him now.

He slowed to a brisk walk as he made it into the forest, and tried not to think about the pain in his ankle. There were a few stray Walkers among the trees that Daryl disposed of as he went, but the trip was blissfully quiet, and he made it to the highway in good time. Before he broke the treeline, he recognized the stillness of the forest and the shuffling of hundreds of feet. There was another herd passing on the road. He immediately crouched and shifted behind a tree.

A tiny part of Daryl worried about the group. What if, for some reason, they’d risked staying on the highway to wait for him? Were they there now, underneath cars and corpses and hoping not to get caught? He worried at his lip and shook his head. There wasn’t a chance. There was no way they’d stayed, and even if they had, there was nothing he could do for them now except get himself killed. 

He waited, resting his ankle, and watching the road from his hiding spot. It wasn’t a very good hiding spot. In fact, several Walkers ambled towards him, and Daryl got up and pulled further back into the trees before disposing of them with his knife. Finally, deciding that his smell was probably the bigger problem than his poor hiding place, Daryl reluctantly retraced the steps they’d traveled while looking for Sophia and clambered down into the stream, hiding himself underneath the bramble that should have protected the little girl and hadn’t. The running water would keep his scent away from the Walkers on the road, but all he could think about as he sat in the mud was the girl he hadn’t managed to save. He wondered if this was a nightmare and not reality. He wondered if they were somehow replaying history, and he would get bit and carted off into someone’s barn. He shuddered at the thought of Rick hunting the forest for his ghost. It was nearly as bad as the thought of the house crashing down among the Walkers with Rick still inside.

The only good of the entire experience was that the chilly water helped soothe the ache in his ankle and brought down what was probably some magnificent swelling that he’d refused to check out. He left his wrist in the flow of the water, too, but ultimately gave it up when his fingers started to go numb. 

Eventually, Daryl crawled out of the creek, up the embankment and back towards the road. The herd had passed, and there were only a couple stray Walkers that Daryl put down before getting started. The sun was high in the sky now and warmed his chilled limbs. 

First, Daryl searched for a vehicle that worked and spent a solid hour siphoning off gas. He had to go a ways down the road to reach a section of pile up that hadn’t been searched, but the effort was worthwhile. He found a minivan with fold down seats that probably cost more than he could have hoped to afford before the end of the world and somehow had neither Walkers inside nor significant damage on the outside. It started on the first try. There was a carseat behind the driver’s seat which Daryl almost tossed before remembering Lori’s pregnancy and instead just unhooked and stowed behind a seat. He found some food to go with the gas and prepped the vehicle before sitting down to some beef jerky. He had to move several vehicles out of the way to clear a path, which turned out to be more obnoxious than he would have guessed, but he thought the find was worth the extra effort. 

When he’d cleared out as much supplies and food as was easily accessible and had the van ready to leave, he had a brief, unexpected thought that he could just go. He could leave Rick in that farmhouse and no one would know. If he ever caught up to the group, they already thought he was dead, so what difference would that make? It was no worse than what the cop had done to his brother, leaving him trapped and ultimately severely injured and surrounded by Walkers. Karma was a bitch.

Daryl shook his head, dismissing the idea, unsettled that he’d even entertained it for a moment. Rick had done all right by him. It was Merle’s own fault that he’d lost his hand and gone and went missing because he should have known Daryl would come back for him, no matter what. And now he supposed he’d go back for Rick, no matter what.

Daryl spent an embarrassingly long time hunting for signs of his group near and around the spot where they’d left supplies for Sophia. Once he’d circled the area and expanded his search and come up with nothing, he started looking under, in and around vehicles for a less obvious hint. He even skimmed the edges of the forests and, though he wasn’t prepared to admit it, checked under hoods and in trunks. He looked for fresh tracks and footprints, abnormal indentations, and especially any sort of note or sign. But the herd of Walkers had trodden down anything he could have expected to see and there was no sign like the one they’d left for Sophia. There was no promise to return at any point, nor was there any indications of where they were intending to go. 

They’d left him behind. They’d known he was alive, and they’d left him behind. The thought stung, no matter how desperately he tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter, that he didn’t much care for that group anyway. He’d thought at least Carol might have made an attempt, but he’d done nothing but yell at her for the last few days they were together. They were probably glad to be rid of him. 

He shook his head to clear it as he plodded back to the van. It didn’t matter. Rick’s family was with that group, so they’d find them anyway. And once they’d found them, well, Daryl didn’t need to stick around. 

Daryl suddenly wished he’d paid a little more attention to anything besides Sophia or sulking in his tent. He wasn’t sure how far away the neighbors were, or the little town with the pharmacy, or the bar where Hershel had gone to drink and returned with a whole mess of problems. He hadn’t even paid all that much care to the map Rick had used to set up a search grid since he’d been more concerned about following her trail than combing every piece of land. The end result was that he wasn’t familiar enough with the territory for the plan he wanted to use and was stuck wasting precious fuel and daylight circling around and around on the back roads.

He needed a place that was close enough to the farm that he could attract the Walkers with some loud noises, but not so close that they’d lure them back by their own noises as they prepared to leave. It couldn’t be too close to the highway, lest he drag another herd into the area. It had to be secure enough that it could withstand a pounding before the Walkers reached it, but not soundproof. 

As the afternoon faded away, Daryl finally decided on a farmhouse that was kitty-corner to Hershel’s land. He’d originally dismissed it as too far, but he didn’t really have the luxury of being picky unless he intended to stay out all night, and he was a little afraid that Rick would do something stupid if he didn’t make it back before dark. 

Daryl quickly cleared the house. There weren’t any Walkers inside, probably already taken care of at Hershel’s barn, but no one had had the sense to loot the food, probably out of respect for the ‘sick’. In addition to the food, there were also tools, batteries, and two rifles with ammo. Daryl loaded everything of use into his new van and hoped that one of the two trucks parked in the driveway worked. He wasn’t ready to give up the van if he could help it, but if he had to get back out to the highway for another, he’d definitely be out there past dark.

His luck was not getting any better. Both trucks started, eventually, but neither of them had a very loud speaker set and there were, unsurprisingly none to be found in the house. So his original plan of blasting some death metal on some speakers run with car batteries was toast. Daryl considered the merits of driving to Hershel’s and leading the herd back there, jumping in his own vehicle and circling around, but didn’t like his odds of not attracting a plethora of Walkers from other directions. If it turned out that the other half of the herd that had moved on were still within earshot, he’d be surrounded in no time. 

Daryl re-examined the house for anything useful, hoping he could make something work before night fell, and happened upon a trunk in the master bedroom that contained a disturbingly large number of sex toys and fireworks. He grinned and grabbed the box of fireworks, opening it to make sure it was as labeled. 

On the one hand, everything, living and dead was bound to see it from miles around and go towards it. He could potentially draw in a herd from the highway again or some unsavory characters. On the other hand, everything, living and dead was bound to see it from miles around and go towards it. It would clear out Hershel’s farm for sure and maybe even send a signal to their group, if they hadn’t already gotten too far away to see it. He shrugged to himself. There was a good distance to Hershel’s farm. They’d be safe. Probably.

The problem was that the fireworks wouldn’t last long, and Daryl wanted to make sure the Walkers hung around and weren’t tempted by any noises they might make at Hershel’s. 

He sat down on the master bed and smoked a cigarette instead of eating dinner and then dropped the fireworks out of the second floor window so that they landed on the roof of the porch and wouldn’t be obstructed when they went off. Then he set fire to the curtains with his cigarette, got into his new van, and drove to wait it out nearer to the farm. 

 

========

 

“We can’t stay here.” T-Dog declared after the dead had been mentioned and everyone had a few minutes to let the tears flow. “This place is a death trap. You can bet there’s another herd coming soon and enough strays to make it dangerous already.”

Glenn nodded stiffly. He didn’t want to be the bad guy any more than T-Dog did, but it just wasn’t safe to stay. It was hard to believe everything that had happened in the last hour. “T’s right. We’re sitting ducks.”

“We can’t leave yet.” Carol gasped, looking stricken. “Daryl’s not here yet. We’re not even sure about Andrea. We have to go back.”

“We can’t go back. It’s too dangerous. They’ve either left or they’re dead.” Hershel announced solemnly. 

“Daryl was on his bike. He was away from the herd. We just need to give him a couple more minutes.” Carol insisted.

“Daryl should have beat us here. It’s easier to get around the debris on that thing.” Maggie pointed out.

“Unless something held him up.”

“Or he didn’t come at all.” Lori put in slowly. “He didn’t much care for any of us. He might have decided he was better off on his own. Especially with Rick-” Her voice choked, and she cut herself off. 

Carol shook her head. “No. He might not be social, but he’s part of our group. He stayed for Sophia. He wouldn’t leave us.”

“We can leave him a note.” Beth suggested. “And Andrea, if she made it. We’ll let them know where to find us.”

Glenn looked around the group to find they were all nodding along, but looking to him for the final decision. Losing Rick, Shane and Daryl in one night left a gaping hole where their leadership used to be. He felt entirely inadequate to fill it. He tried to make sure it didn’t show and took a deep breath. “We can’t.” Glenn declared. “If Randall’s group were to find it… They’d kill us all. And I doubt they’re the only group we need to watch out for. He’ll be okay. If anyone can survive out here on his own, it’s Daryl.”

“He’ll find us.” T-Dog added comfortingly, resting his hand on Carol’s shoulder. “He’s a tracker, remember?”

 

========


	4. A Snag

Rick didn’t expect to be able to fall back asleep knowing that Daryl was out there risking his neck or that Carl and Lori were grieving him again. After the heart-stopping crash outside his window he’d woken up to that morning and the fear of seeing Daryl nearly get surrounded, Rick figured he’d have his eyes peeled the whole day. But as it turned out, healing was a very energy intensive exercise, and Rick found himself lying back down and drifting off again before noon. 

He awoke with a jolt to the sound of a heavy crash for the second time that day, only this one was further away and a whole lot louder. The sun had well and truly set, and he had a stabbing fear at finding the room empty. Surely Daryl would have returned by now? It was just good sense not to stay out after dark. The noise sounded again, a large boom and less of the crash of boards he’d heard this morning. It almost sounded like... fireworks. Rick carefully picked himself up from the bed and shuffled carefully to the window, using everything solid within his reach to distribute his weight from his leg. He pushed the sheet to the side and looked out at the yard. Not a Walker in sight. There was also no sign of Daryl.

Rick tried to push the worry he felt for the hunter aside. He may be the only link Rick had to the outside world, but he was more than competent out there. In all likelihood, he was responsible for the lack of Walkers in the yard. Still, Rick crept towards the door, making up his mind to check out all the upstairs windows and see what the situation was outside. He’d prefer to get on the roof, but his injury precluded that option. 

As he was shuffling along the floor, leaning heavily and stumbling not unlike a Walker himself, Rick’s foot shifted a piece of cloth out of the way, and he instantly heard the creak of the floorboard beneath him. He waited a moment with his breath stilled before slinking the rest of the way and pressing his ear against the door. Almost immediately, like the Walker had taken the exact same time to reach the door as him, there was moaning and snarling on the other side. Rick glanced down, triple checking that the corpses leaning against the dresser were, in fact, dead, before sighing and making the slow progression back to the bed. 

He was pretty sure there was just the one Walker out there, but it could be awfully hard to tell sometimes, and he didn’t think it was worth the risk just to evaluate the situation for himself. Even if Daryl was stuck out there and injured, there wasn’t a lot he’d be able to do for him in his current condition. He resigned himself to wait, checking his watch every two minutes and letting his mind wander over how he felt like a princess trapped in the tower, even as he simultaneously felt like a father awaiting the late return of a child. 

Rick intended to wait two hours before taking action, but revised the decision to one hour after the first twenty minutes stretched on. After exactly 47 minutes of waiting, assuming his watch was still functioning properly, there was a knock at his door. It was surprising at first before he considered that he really didn’t have any idea how else Daryl might have got into the room. He’d destroyed whatever ladder he’d been using that morning and the barricade was, well, barricading. 

Rick made the return trip to the door quite a bit more quickly than the last time, hissing in pain as his weight shifted too much onto the wrong leg and struggling to properly brace himself as he scooted the dresser out of the way. Daryl gave him a hand once it was angled properly and then slid it back into place with his back as soon as he was fully inside. 

“We were supposed to decide together if you should go.” Rick hissed with a frown that might have been lost in the darkness.

“Didn’t see the point. Was my skin on the line.”

Daryl was talking at his normal volume, so Rick figured it was safe enough to do so and followed suit. He already missed the sense of pseudo camaraderie that leaning in and whispering evoked. “You were almost surrounded. It’s damn lucky I woke up or you wouldn’t have made it to the woods.”

Daryl didn’t say anything or make any noticeable movements in response, but Rick could tell that he was conceding the point. He let the matter drop, knowing that that was as good as it was going to get. The hunter wasn’t known for apologizing, and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference if he did. It was more gratifying to know that he thought the point was valid and probably wouldn’t be making the same mistake again.

Rick shuffled himself back towards the bed, turning down Daryl’s offer to give him a hand with a reprimanding look. “You’re hurt.” It wasn’t a question. Even though it was pretty dark in the room, Rick could tell with just a few steps that Daryl was stiff and limping. 

“Ain’t serious.” Daryl brushed it off, hobbling to the bed and sitting down heavily on it. “How’s yer leg?” He deflected.

Rick was just about to redirect his attention back to the question on hand, when he decided that the ensuing argument was not worth it. Daryl would cave to pragmatic reasoning, provided the conversation wasn’t already heated. “Still hurts something awful, but the site didn’t look any worse today than yesterday. Want to take a look at it?”

Daryl nodded, reaching over to the nightside table and quickly lighting both the candles that rested there. He then grabbed the glass of water that Rick had filled but not finished drinking earlier in the day and passed it to him before digging around in his satchel and pulling out a bottle of what Rick assumed was aspirin. “First, take this.” Rick complied eagerly, hoping the aspirin would tone down the thrumming agony that had encased his whole leg since this morning, and had begun to travel up his side. 

Afterward, Daryl helped him lay down properly, dragged one of the candles close to his leg and inspected the stitches. He nodded but didn’t comment, which Rick took to mean that there wasn’t anything alarming to be seen. 

“Your turn.” 

Daryl raised an eyebrow. “Told ya. Ain’t that bad.”

“It’s the Dark Ages out there, Daryl. Our best hope for survival is prevention of illness.” Rick cut himself off before he could comment more about how they lacked a doctor, and proper medicine or facilities. He didn’t say how an infection could be lethal for them, or how if one of them went down, the other would have a hell of a time surviving. He didn’t need to. That line of thinking was abundantly clear, and Daryl wasn’t the stupid redneck that everyone had him pinned for at the start of this mess. One look at the frustration on his face, and he knew Daryl had pulled that all together for himself. 

Rick waited until Daryl had himself situated properly on the bed, mostly leaning against the headboard and hiking up his pant leg for Rick to view his ankle. It was swollen up and a mottled patchwork of bruising. Rick cringed at the thought that Daryl must have been walking around on it for some time to get this sort of effect. “Wish we had some ice, but I guess the best we can do is some compression and elevation to get the swelling down.”

“It ain’t as bad as it looks.” Daryl muttered, petulant and unhelpful, but he let Rick take hold of the appendage and work on wrapping it up. He considered that with all of Daryl’s protests, he might be embarrassed, but of what, Rick couldn’t say.

“How’d you do this, anyway?”

Daryl shrugged. “Landed on it funny when that shitty siding broke under me this mornin’. My wrist wasn’t too happy ‘bout it neither.”

Rick’s first thought was that Daryl had been running and then walking on that ankle all day, and it was probably a miracle that it wasn’t any worse. His second thought was about what Daryl had actually said, and he let out a chuckle. “You thought it was safe to climb the trellis? Didn’t you learn anything about sneaking into a girl’s bedroom in High School?” Rick had never actually climbed one, but Shane’s stories even back then had always suggested that it was a well-known and often failed tactic.

“Weren’t no ladder layin’ ‘round.” Daryl protested, huffing angrily but not meeting Rick’s eyes. Rick attempted to tone down his glee at finding out that Daryl was, in fact, embarrassed. “‘Sides, didn’t know no girl rich ‘nough fer a second floor.”

“Let me see your wrist.”

Daryl extended his arm, and Rick scooted himself around Daryl’s extended legs so he could take his hand gently to look at the injury. It didn’t look particularly serious, and had the benefit of not having been overused all day long. His eyes caught on a fresh set of stitches further up along the archer’s forearm, and he brought the candle closer to them. “What’s this?”

Daryl tried to pull away from the contact, and Rick tightened his grip without thinking, which caused the other man to tense up at the rough treatment of his wrist. 

“Sorry.” The cop apologized, immediately letting go and pulling back out of his space. 

“Weren’t easy gettin’ in here with that herd.” It was the only explanation Daryl was inclined to give, so Rick took it. If he’d been scratched by a Walker, they’d both know it by now. 

“Doesn’t look infected. Any others?”

Daryl sighed, and tugged down the collar of his shirt, exposing another set of stitches just below his collarbone. Rick leaned in, ignoring the way Daryl stiffened, and examined the neat row of thread. It looked better than the injury on Rick’s leg did, probably due to the size rather than any indicator of infection or concern. He wondered how his friend had managed to do that without any painkiller or medical supplies.

Keeping those prying questions to himself, Rick glanced down at Daryl’s covered abdomen. He’d completely forgotten how the man was pierced all the way through not that long ago. He wasn’t sure how long those sorts of injuries took to heal, but he was guess that running and climbing were undoubtedly still painful for him. “And the one Hershel fixed up?”

“Fine.” Daryl grunted, making no move to show that wound. Rick decided not to push his luck. 

“Water’s still running. We should use the opportunity to clean them up properly in the morning before we leave.” The thought reminded him that he hadn’t even gotten a report out of Daryl yet; he’d been too distracted with making sure he was okay that the rest of his concerns had been put on the back burner. “What did you find?” Daryl’s mouth tightened briefly, and Rick knew before he said a word that it wasn’t good news. The archer hesitated, occupying himself by retrieving a couple of cans from his bag and opening them with his knife, handing one off to Rick for dinner. Rick didn’t wait for him to answer. “Any tracks?”

“Herd went through, least one. Weren’t nothin’ left to see.”

Rick brought his hand up and rubbed at the stubble on his chin as he thought. “Well, there’s no way they went towards Atlanta since that’s where the herds are coming from, so we get back on the highway and head South. Maybe we can catch some sign of them. Hell, maybe they left a note further up the road.”

Daryl obviously did not share his optimism, but he didn’t shoot the idea down, either. “Can leave in the mornin’. I found a car, some gas, an’ took care of the Walkers.”

“With fireworks?” Rick asked, remembering the distinct sound that had woken him up. 

Lifting his mouth into a smirk, the archer nodded. “Took a page from yer book and set a house on fire, too. Should keep ‘em distracted.”

Rick didn’t need to comment on how much of a dangerous idea the fireworks had been. He knew Daryl well enough now to know that he’d considered it when he set them off. He’d probably also considered that if their group were still close enough to see them, they might come back. “We’ll leave in the afternoon. Should give us some time to stock up before we go.”

 

==========

 

Andrea kept running, knowing that no matter how tired her legs were, or how much her lungs pounded, she would be dead if she stopped for more than a couple minutes. A decent number of Walkers had trailed her from the farm, unrelenting in their pursuit and keeping pace with infuriating consistency. She supposed it would be a whole lot easier to run like them if she didn’t need to breathe either.

Gaining a little distance, she tucked herself in a crouch behind a tree and rifled through the infamous gunbag that had caused such a mess in Atlanta. She’d managed to grab it as she fled, and although she was happy for the extra guns and ammo, she didn’t want to fire and attract more Walkers to her. Her presence in the woods was already dangerous enough and Walkers joined in the chase nearly as fast as she managed to take them down. She picked through the ammo and stuffed every bullet she could find for her own weapon into her pocket, reloading quickly and then taking off. It was becoming apparent that she’d have to fire again soon from the sheer number of Walkers. She was probably running straight through the tail end of the herd that had moved on Hershel’s place.

Andrea had no idea how she found the strength to keep herself moving as the sun moved across the sky and started to set. She was no longer able to run, but she pushed herself forward, hoping for some kind of miracle that would let her rest before she gave out. Her gun was out of ammo now, and she might have picked out another with more ammo, even if she wasn’t skilled with it, but even the idea of jogging ahead of the Walkers to search the bag felt overwhelming and exhausting. She turned the gun around and used it like a hammer, alternating between that and her knife to get through the next few Walkers.

The herd had thinned enough that she could stop for a bit, but she didn’t want to risk the sleep she so desperately craved for fear of the herd catching back up with her. She kept moving, stumbling over her own feet as much as the twigs and branches as the woods darkened further. She turned to take care of the closest Walkers, smashing and stabbing and then tripping and falling. The third Walker was on top of her. Andrea felt for her knife among the dead leaves.

And then her miracle arrived in the form of a woman with a katana. Andrea looked at her with wide eyes, wondering if she should be more afraid of the sword-wielding hooded lady who had Walkers trailing after her on a chain or the loose Walkers in the forest. 

“You bit?” The stranger asked, tipping her head slightly.

Andrea shook her head.

“Good. We’ll set up camp right here.”

“We have to keep moving. Find a car or something.” Andrea panted. “There’s a herd. I’ve only just managed to stay ahead of them.”

The woman smiled, pearly white teeth standing out against her dark skin. “We’ll be safe. Just have to keep the right sort of company.” She tugged on the chains in her grasp and the Walkers behind her took a couple steps closer, but didn’t attempt to bite or claw at either of them. Andrea looked them over again, blinking in surprise as she realized they had neither a jaw nor any arms. 

“How does it work?”

==========

 

Rick woke to sunlight filtering in the unobscured window with a warmth pressed against his side. His first instinct was to burrow into the heat and go back to sleep, but something told him this would not be a good idea. It then came back to him that he was in bed with Daryl and cuddling might just get him knifed. He sat up quicker than he should, which woke Daryl up and that didn’t improve the situation. Rick felt guilty because he’d obviously chased the other man to the edge of the bed in his subconscious search for warmth if the way they were positioned was any indicator.

“Sorry.” Rick mumbled, wiping his face and yawning. 

“S’okay.” The archer grunted as he slowly sat up and stretched out. Rick didn’t know if he’d apologized for encroaching on his space, waking him up, or forcing him to share the bed in the first place, but Daryl surprisingly seemed entirely unperturbed. In fact, he’d seemed almost relieved the night before when Rick had nixed the idea of sleeping in separate rooms now that the farm was cleared out. They were safer together. Rick wondered if Daryl felt the same extreme reticence of letting each other out of sight for fear of getting stuck completely alone. His next statement almost seemed to confirm the notion. “Me an’ Merle used to share a lot when we was young an’ pa was drunk.”

Daryl limped over to use the bathroom, and Rick tried not to think about all the connotations of that sentence. He’d seen the scars on Daryl’s back when he’d helped Hershel treat him, and had a few good guesses about his family life. The fact of the matter was that Merle may well have been the best part of Daryl’s life, sad as it was to contemplate. Instead, Rick concentrated on the fact that the statement seemed to imply that Daryl felt safe in his company. His mind quickly drifted to Lori and Carl, wondering if they were safe and who all was travelling together and where they’d decided was the best place to go. 

While Rick was in the shower, carefully cleaning the wound in his leg and staying longer than needed to appreciate the feeling of cleanliness, Daryl had collected some fresh clothes and stacked them on the bed next to a cane. He sat to get dressed and took his time. 

When he was ready, he systematically searched the rooms of the top floor for anything that would help them survive. He didn’t bother with clothes, which could be replaced easily enough, but concentrated his search on useful items like batteries and sewing kits and medicine. If it wasn’t likely to break, he tossed it out the window to be picked up later, and everything else was stowed in a bag he’d found in one of the closets. The only exception was when he came upon the photo album that Lori had been lugging around since the beginning. He couldn’t in good conscience take the whole thing; they didn’t have the luxury of that sort of sentimentality, so he limited himself to just two pictures of Lori and two pictures of Carl and a photo of them altogether. After a brief debate, he snagged one with Shane in it as well. 

The stairs were every bit as awful as he imagined, and Rick took careful steps down, keeping his weight on his good leg and making use of the railing and cane. When he was finally at the bottom, he’d worked up a sweat and decided that anything he’d missed or forgotten upstairs were not worth retrieving. 

Daryl had been working on a similar search of the house on the first floor and was now moving boxes and bags onto the porch. “I wanna check the basement and the shed ‘fore we leave. Hopin’ we can find some extra gas.” Rick nodded. He wanted to offer to do something, but he felt utterly exhausted from just the brief work he’d done already. He was so tired that he didn’t even protest when Daryl told him to sit and rest for a while. 

Daryl ended up doing most of the remaining work, and Rick tried not to feel guilty about it. If their roles were reversed, Rick would gladly shoulder something extra so Daryl could rest. The pep talk didn’t really help, so he spent his time looking through the photo albums in the living room and finally choosing a picture of Maggie and Beth that looked pretty recent and another of Hershel that looked to be terribly outdated. He browsed until he found one that included all three of them. It was a bit old, too, but they were all smiling, at least. He added them to his collection in his pocket.

Shortly after noon, Daryl joined him in the living room, kicking his feet with dirty boots on the coffee table and tossing Rick a bottle of water and a granola bar before digging into his own food. “Three full cans of gas.” He reported in with a pleased half-smile.

“Excellent.” Rick returned the smile. “We’ll have to thank Hershel when we catch up to them.”

“We can go any time.” 

Part of Rick wanted to wait a little longer in hopes that his family had somehow seen the fireworks and made their way back to the farm. He’d been having heroic fantasies about reuniting all morning, but of course the chances of them being close enough were slim to nil. “Any time after you take a shower.” 

Daryl grumbled something unintelligible, but it seemed like a good-natured complaint and peeled himself off the couch to get back upstairs. Rick was feeling better for having sat for a while, so he set about trying to be useful. He wanted to collect some clothes and bring them up for his friend as had been done for him, but there was no way he was going back upstairs. Instead, he decided to head back outside and see how their vehicle situation was.

Daryl had managed to find a van and loaded up a decent haul in the back. There was a good collection of cans and food as well as guns, ammo, and tools. Rick even spotted a baby’s carseat tucked into the back and smiled at the quiet optimism that spoke of. He only found two cans of gas in the van and looked around to see what had happened to the third, finally spotting it beside some shrubbery next to Daryl’s bike.

Rick was just about to hobble his way to the motorcycle and see if he could help fill the tank or check the engine when he heard gravel crunching in the driveway. There were two cars quickly approaching the house. Rick stuffed down the hope that it was the rest of his group and reminded himself to be practical. He swept several boxes of ammo into his bag, swung it over his shoulder and grabbed a couple guns that he could hold one handed before using his cane to dart back into the house as quickly as possible. 

He halted just inside and sneaked a look through the smashed front window. The cars did not look familiar and were filled with people he didn’t recognize. There were at least ten of them, mostly or all male, and although he couldn’t make them out clearly from the distance, they looked dangerous. Lurching towards the stairs, Rick hissed for Daryl, but he knew it was futile. The water was still running, and if he shouted now, they would certainly hear him outside through the many broken windows.

Chomping down on the pain, Rick clutched everything that looked stable and hopped up the steps as quickly as he could manage. He could already hear raised voices floating in before he even made it halfway up. They were talking about the van parked out front, that someone was looting the place and must still be inside. Rick grit his teeth harder and kept going.

He was sweating profusely by the time he reached the bedroom he and Daryl were sharing, and tried to keep his gasping breaths to a minimum. His leg was on fire. 

Rick pushed into the room. The dresser was no longer barricading the way, and he glanced at it in contemplation, but dismissed the idea of putting it back immediately. It would only serve to give away their location and the group’s superior numbers would be able to bust in right away. He limped to the bathroom, peeling the door open without a second thought. He didn’t even get through Daryl’s name before he was pressed against the wall with a knife beneath his chin. He probably should have expected that a man like Daryl wouldn’t even be unarmed in the shower. “People here. Not ours.” He explained between pants. 

Daryl nodded his understanding, yanked on some pants, and scooped up his belongings as Rick peaked out the doorway to make sure the coast was clear. 

“They’re downstairs.” Rick whispered, eyeballing the window. “Any other way out of here?”

“We get on the porch from that window an’ they’ll see us outside. Come on.” Daryl led the way down the hall into another room where he quietly closed the door and pried open the window. They would still be able to get onto the porch roof, but they’d be on the other side of the wrap-around. It wasn’t a great option, but it was better than hiding in a closet, especially if they needed to make a run for it. “Don’t scream.” Daryl instructed before bodily picking Rick up and setting him feet first out the window.

Rick forgot how to breathe and nearly bit his tongue off to keep quiet from the sudden jerking motion and pressure on his injured leg. Daryl urged him to move, pushing him sideways so he could get out the window, and then shutting it behind them. Rather than try to get Rick to move any more, he just rotated around him and leaned up against the house on his other side. 

When the pain subsided to more bearable levels, Daryl was holding out some aspirin and water, which Rick took greedily before leaning back against the house. They were safely out of sight; someone would have to stick their head out the window to see them from inside, and at that point, Rick thought he might not even hesitate to stab them to keep them quiet. It wasn’t a perfect hiding place because anyone who stepped away from the house and came around to their side would be able to spot them without difficulty, but it was safe enough for the moment, and Rick needed that moment to work through the pain. 

In retrospect, Rick couldn’t imagine how else he was supposed to get through the window with so little control over lifting his leg and so much pain accompanying it, but it was still excruciating. Daryl looked a little apologetic at least as he slipped his shirt and vest back on. His shoes were next, though both socks had apparently been lost, and it was a painful struggle with the swelling in his ankle. Last, he slipped his satchel on, keeping his crossbow ready in his lap.

“Quick question.” Rick asked when he finally felt in control of himself, leaning well into Daryl’s space to whisper. “How do we get down from here without being seen? There’s not even a trellis anymore.”

Daryl scoffed. “What kinda idiot would try an’ climb a trellis?” 

Rick let out a surprised huff of laughter before turning back to Daryl. “The van’s out front. They know we’re here. And if that’s Randall’s group, I don’t think we want to risk being found.”

“Shit.” Daryl chewed nervously on his thumbnail. “Probably is Randall’s group. An’ I drew ‘em in with them fireworks.”

“Doesn’t matter now. How do we get out of here?”

“We can jump.” Daryl suggested, eying the edge of the porch and the ground below. “Or fall.”

Rick ran a hand through his hair, opened his mouth to comment and shut it when he heard noises come from the room they were leaning against. Daryl stiffened beside him, obviously hearing the men clomping around in the bedroom as well. There was a ruffling of things in the closet and the sound of drawers being roughly thrown open. A few minutes later, the boots stomped away.

Rick glanced into the room, noting that the people had truly left and that the door was ajar. He pulled back and continued whispering to Daryl. “Okay, you go in there and grab the sheets. We’ll tie them to the latticework and climb down.”

 Daryl nodded, accepting the dangerous mission without hesitation or complaint. Rick wished he could go with him, but even with a sprained ankle, Daryl was in far better condition to move around quickly and quietly. Rick looked again in the window and then gave Daryl the signal to go in, watching anxiously through the glass as the hunter padded around the room quietly. He was about the peel the bedding from the bed when he glanced into the closet and instead returned with a stack of folded sheets. Rick didn’t dare breathe until he was safely back on the porch roof working on knots. 

Daryl made it look easy to get down. He gripped the cloth firmly between his hands, triple checked that the coast was clear and braced his feet against the building as he walked backwards towards the ground.

Rick did not find it so simple. First, he had to wait as one man was pacing on the porch while he smoked a cigarette. And then he had to adjust the make-shift rope back into a useable position. He couldn’t brace his injured leg and was forced to let it dangle and his upper body was protesting at the extra burden. 

Finally, Rick made it to the ground with no further injury and tried to get comfortable in a ducking position. Daryl gave him a look as they observed the sheer number of people milling about the house and how the van seemed to be swarmed, and Rick gestured towards his motorcycle with his head. “Gassed up?” 

Daryl nodded.

“Does it start?”

Daryl shrugged. 

Rick’s face pinched up in displeasure, but it was a risk they’d have to take. They’d be shot down before they reached the van; there never seemed to be fewer than three strangers standing around looking through their goods. “We need a distraction. Don’t suppose you’ve got any fireworks left.”

A withering stare was thrown his way, but Rick had already shifted his attention to his watch, setting the timer for just two minutes before undoing the clasp and hurling it as far as he could over the house. The roof would do, the opposing side would be better.

Everyone started talking when the beeping started, most heading into the building, but some shading their eyes and looking up. Rick and Daryl took the opportunity and ran, leaning heavily on each other. Rick knew the archer was carrying an unreasonable amount of his weight, but there was no chance he was going to be able to walk on his own, nevermind run.

Somehow, their mad dash to the motorcycle went unnoticed by the group. The spurring to life of Daryl’s engine; however, was impossible to miss. Rick gripped hard around his friend’s waist as he tore through the brush, trying to ignore the shouting behind them. There were a couple gunshots, but Rick didn’t have a clue if they were even close. Car doors slammed and he knew they’d be following soon. 

“Highway is the other direction!” Rick shouted against the wind when he realized Daryl had turned the wrong way.

“Too straight an’ open. Need to lose ‘em first.” Daryl shouted back. At least, he thought that’s what was said. It was hard to hear anything over the engine and the wind whipping around them. 

Daryl seemed relatively familiar with the back roads and turned several times before Rick was sure they’d lost their tail. He then circled back around towards the little town, slowing down and slipping easily between buildings until he pulled up by a library which had a long ramp and cut his engine. 

“Stay here. I’ll make sure it’s empty.”

Rick shook his head. “We should get back on the highway, get away from this town.”

“Nah. We need to rest for a bit an’ I need to redo yer stitches.”

Rick looked down at his leg, noticing for the first time that there was blood seeping through his pants. He didn’t know how long it had been there because the pain hadn’t really ebbed since he’d been awake and had only gotten worse with the constant use. He sighed and nodded.

His family would have to wait another day.

 

==========


	5. The Campsite

The library was thankfully empty of any threats. Daryl would have been far more surprised if there had been anyone inside. Small town libraries weren’t exactly known as a place to try and hold out through the apocalypse. Rick looked even paler and was listing off to one side when Daryl returned just a few minutes later. He put the bike in neutral, then pushed it up the ramp and through the large glass doors with the cop still astride it. The building wasn’t the most secure, but Daryl was aiming for incognito over defensibility, and there was a reading nook hidden from just about every angle that had a plush couch and chair wedged in the corner. 

After guiding Rick off the bike, Daryl had him lean against a bookshelf while crouching in front and helping him remove his pants. The act would probably have been awkward if Rick had been conscious enough to process more of it, and Daryl was glad for the first time that Merle wasn’t around or he’d have to deal with a mess of snide comments as well. Rick sat too quickly and sucked in a quick breath at the unexpected resurgence of pain, so Daryl fished around for the aspirin and some water before retrieving the sewing kit from his satchel, wishing they had more than water to clean the damn thing. 

As if reading his mind, Rick contributed, “The pharmacy is a bit too far from here and mostly cleared out, but there’s a bar a couple blocks up the road. Just be careful. That’s where we ran into Randall’s group in the first place.” 

Daryl nodded tightly, debating if the additional blood loss was worth the sterilization, but decided that Rick would probably need the alcohol himself in a moment, anyway. “Keep pressure on that till I get back.”

Daryl made the journey at a speed that was recklessly fast, but he figured it was just a matter of time before their pursuers decided to check the town, and he’d like to be tucked back in the library by then. He was also afraid of leaving Rick by himself, afraid that by the time he got back, he’d have to put down a Walker and be completely alone in the world. There wasn’t one activity they’d done that day that Rick should have been doing with the kind of injury he had. They’d been pushing their luck heading out so soon already and that was with the assumption that Rick would spend most of the day sitting down and doing very little. Now, Rick had popped open his stitches and done untold damage to the wound that had only just begun to heal, and Daryl didn’t have so much as bandages to provide for him. All their additional supplies were lost with the van, a blow to their chances of survival that Daryl hadn’t allowed himself to grieve. And worse, it was all his fault for setting off those damn fireworks. Had he really believed that their group would be waiting around close enough and looking for a sign? They hadn’t even cared enough about him to leave a note, not that he blamed them.

Shaking his head, Daryl concentrated on breaking into the bar and collecting up several bottles, stowing them in his bag and slipping out as quickly as possible. He ignored the bodies on the floor. This place had been overrun with Walkers a little over a week ago, according to Rick, but none of them had stuck around. Daryl wondered if they’d somehow made their way to the farm and joined in the barrage. 

Daryl jumped at the shuffling in an alley on his way, which turned out to just be a rat, then nearly had a heart-attack at the sound of male voices across the street. He ducked behind a trash can. 

“-same assholes that shot Dave and Tony?” 

“Too close to be a coincidence.”

“‘Cept there’s only two of ‘em.” A third voice joined as the trio walked across the street towards the bar. Daryl held his breath, knowing that he wasn’t well hidden. If they looked his way, one of them might spot him. “There were three at the bar, an’ probably more b’sides. Bet that group cleared out soon as those bastards made it back.”

“Leftovers, then. Don’t much matter, though. They’re obviously trouble, and Harlan don’t wanna risk trouble sticking around.”

The bar door banged loudly behind them, and Daryl waited only a few breaths before taking off down the street, ignoring the pulsing pain in his ankle, pushing himself until he skidded into the library, only slowing to carefully make sure he was alone first. He pushed in the locks at the top of the glass doors before getting out of sight. It wouldn’t stop Walkers or people, but it should give them a warning, at least.

Daryl came around the edge of the bookshelf to find Rick exactly where he’d left him, except he had his gun raised and was clutching a pad to his injury. Rick sighed in relief and lowered his weapon. “That even loaded?” Daryl asked as he pulled out his new sterilizing agent and cleaned up his hands, the needle, then the thread.

Rick nodded. “Grabbed some ammo from the van before they arrived. It’s not a ton, but it’s better than nothing.”

Dropping down to kneel, Daryl pushed Rick’s hands away from his wound, pulling up the panty liner that was currently being used as a bandage and raising his eyebrow at the other man. “Where’d ya get this?” 

Rick looked a touch embarrassed, though Daryl wasn’t sure why. It was a whole lot more sanitary than using their clothes at this point, and the damn things were designed to absorb blood. “Grabbed some of them from one of the bedrooms. Thought the ladies would appreciate the gesture.”

Nodding, Daryl splashed a significant portion of the drink over Rick’s leg, causing the cop to curl in on himself and hiss. Daryl belatedly realized he should have warned him, although he shrugged it off. Rick could have guessed what was coming. He offered the rest of the bottle to him in consolation, but not before taking a drink himself. Rick accepted, eagerly chugging down more than was healthy on an empty stomach before Daryl even got to work fixing the stitches. 

The opening on the top of his thigh had to be completely redone, all but one of the stitches having torn through skin. It made the site look even more ghastly than it was before, and would be more painful than the original stitches. Still, that wasn’t the kind of wound that could heal properly on its own, so Daryl set to work, ignoring the gasps of pain and swearing coming from above. The writhing was more difficult to ignore because it was making the task harder and more painful. “Stop wigglin’.”

“I’m trying.” Rick whined, sucking in a deep breath. This entire process had been a whole lot easier when Rick was unconscious, and Daryl wished he’d just pass out again. As it was, he was contemplating sitting on him to stop the dangerous movements, but the angle wouldn’t make sewing any easier. It’s not that he didn’t have sympathy for the agony Rick was experiencing, but he knew it was more important to finish. 

“Bet there’s a stapler on the desk. Wanna try that instead?”

Daryl had no idea if staples were worse than getting sewn back together, or even if the type of staples were remotely the same, but the comment was apparently very motivating because Rick worked hard to keep himself still despite what Daryl knew to be a painful process. He must have assumed the insincere suggestion was a threat.

Resewing the back side of Rick’s leg was substantially easier, either because fewer stitches had torn or because the alcohol was kicking in, but Daryl was just thankful for it.  When he finished, he bound the pantyliners to Rick’s leg and warned him to try and keep as still as he could. Daryl then hunted around for anything else useful, draping a shawl over Rick before settling down sideways on the chair. The chair wasn’t nearly big enough, but he’d slept in worse.

“Think they’ll come into town?” Rick slurred, his face still planted into the cushion and words difficult to make out.

Daryl hadn’t actively avoided telling Rick they were already there; he just didn’t see the point. There wasn’t anything that could be done, and it was an extra worry Rick definitely didn’t need. “No one’s gonna look fer us here.”

Rick nodded and let himself doze off. After some hesitance, Daryl followed suit. The place was relatively secure, and breaking in would create enough noise to wake them. The best thing he could do for them was to lay low and hope they got overlooked, and his ankle would appreciate finally getting some rest. 

 

===============

 

They stopped when one of the trucks sputtered and quit, gas gauge long past hitting the E. The other truck wasn’t doing much better in the way of gas, and the car was below a quarter tank. They should have stopped, siphoned off one truck and left the other, but the panic and despair had permeated so deeply within the group that no one was thinking all that clearly. 

Glenn looked over at his girlfriend who was sitting quietly in the front seat beside him. This blind panic would have to change if they were going to survive, and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to Maggie or her family. He was going to protect the others, too. They needed to start thinking more rationally, to start planning. Nodding at her, he stepped out of the car and faced the others. 

Carol and Lori were both even closer to freaking out than they had been before, the forced stop heightening the tension and the nearby heavily wooded area reminded them that they were defenseless and surrounded by danger. Lori clutched at Carl, which was probably scaring him more than helping, and Beth looked uncomfortable and nervous as well. T-Dog seemed resigned, leaning against the empty truck and waiting for the next decision. Hershel was the only one interested in meeting Glenn’s eyes, and the look he gave boosted his confidence.

“We’ll need to ditch one of the trucks. Maggie and I can go on ahead, find some gas and bring it back, maybe get an idea of where we’re going.”

Hershel shook his head. “Not tonight. It’s getting dark, and splitting up the group is dangerous even under the best of circumstances.”

Glenn sighed, frustrated at being contradicted by the person he’d thought was going to have his back, but he could concede Hershel’s point. “In the morning, then.”

“What are we supposed to do until then?” Carol asked, more accusing than Glenn thought was fair. 

“We’ll camp over there.” He pointed to the ruined remains of a building, a few stone walls standing at half their original height. It was too close to the woods, which was dark and terrifying, but everything was too close to the woods. “The walls should allow us to build a fire without getting spotted and provide a little extra coverage.”

“We’re going to sleep out here?” Lori asked dubiously. Glenn decided not to comment that they’d been camping near the forest since the beginning and that this wasn’t any different because it was different. There were fewer people to protect them, fewer guns to go around, fewer safety precautions and not even the false security of a tent. Glenn wasn’t thrilled by the idea himself.

Hershel took over. “It’s either pushing forward on foot in the dark or staying put until daybreak, so we’re just going to have to take that risk. At least together, we can stand guard and hopefully get some sleep.”

Glenn nodded and picked up from there. “We’ll do double guards, always with someone familiar with a gun awake and armed, and someone else to act as an extra set of eyes. Carl and I can go first, then T-Dog and Carol, then Maggie and Lori, and then Hershel and Beth.” Glenn figured Lori would complain about Carl taking a shift, but it didn’t come. She might have just been planning to take over his, but Glenn was prepared to argue against it.

As if following his train of thought, Hershel continued. “We’ve all suffered some great losses, and some of those losses were our greatest resources. No one’s denying that we’re much worse for it, and that the times ahead are going to be challenging. But each of us remaining have skills, abilities and ways to contribute, and we all have strength being together. We’re going to get through this because we’re together.”

“I know I’m not a leader.” Glenn started back up, nodding to Hershel. “Not really. But I’m not asking anyone to follow me here. Everyone will get a say, everyone gets a chance to express themselves and their fears, and help decide what we should do next. And we’ll try for consensus as often as possible, and vote if we can’t reach it. All I’m asking is that we stick together, no matter what, and if you disagree with what the group has decided as a whole, you follow through with that play anyway, because we’re only strong if we’re united.” 

Maggie smiled widely at Glenn, like he’d just said the perfect thing, and rubbed his shoulder as she stepped in beside him. “Does anyone have a better idea for tonight?” She waited until it was nearly awkward before nodding. “Okay, then let’s set up camp.”

 Glenn was more than a little nervous about opening up the floor for people to speak their fears and air their frustrations after the set-up had been completed and they were all sitting around the fire with nothing to eat. The idea bordered on lunacy, if Maggie’s glances were anything to go by. But apparently, being able to speak openly about the reality of their situation was more cathartic than anarchist, and the tension started to ease within the group. 

It quickly became clear that everyone was on the same page, just looking at it from different angles, which was perhaps more of a boone than a problem. Everyone thought they were too close to Atlanta, too close to people, too close to herds, and it was easy enough to agree to move South and keep on the lookout for places they could hole up for a few weeks at a time while they cleared houses for food and supplies. Everyone agreed that training in self-defense was going to be a high priority, that other people were too dangerous to risk encounters, that they should have a meet-up place in case they got separated. It was easier then to start making decisions, to start making plans.

Maybe no place would feel as safe as the farm again, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. They needed to stay alert to stay alive. 

 

============

Daryl awoke to the distinct sound of someone trying to open the front doors of the library, easily recognizable even if he was groggy and never heard it before, because he knew the possible dangers it heralded. He didn’t wait for any additional clues as to whether it was Walker or man behind that door, not entirely sure if the second batch of the same sound made one more likely than the other. Instead, he readied his weapon, glanced over to see Rick still sleeping. He crept towards the front, crouching low and peeking through gaps in the shelving to check out the situation. 

It was dark, sometime deep in the night, and Daryl realized that they’d slept the day away. There were a few figures at the door leaning on the glass and straining to see in, clearly human by the muffled rumbling of voices. Daryl couldn’t be sure what any of them were saying, nor could he recognize them in the dim light, but it seemed very likely that they were the same three men that he’d encountered in town earlier. He didn’t know what had taken them so long to find their new hiding spot. It’d certainly been too long for them to have followed him back, which suggested that they’d either taken a substantial break or had been systematically and thoroughly checking every building they came across. 

Daryl clutched his gun tighter, knowing that it was the more dangerous weapon to use because of the noise, but doubting he would stand a chance against them all at once with his crossbow and the time it took to reload. If they’d been checking every building, Daryl and Rick were screwed. He may be successful in getting the drop on them, may even be successful in killing them all before they got him, but that would alert everyone else around to their presence, not to mention the Walkers drawn in to the sound. And could he really shoot three men in cold blood? While he’d adapted to killing Walkers nearly from one blink to the next, killing people was a step he’d never crossed, and even though he’d known it would be inevitable, Daryl was still slightly terrified at the prospect. Mercy killings aside, ending a person’s life changed you, and not for the better. It was the major and sometimes only reason that Daryl hadn’t murdered his father. With so much bad blood in his veins, he wasn’t sure that he could come back from that act, wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t forever be stuck as a monster. 

But Rick had already shot people dead, the evidence of that was lying on the floor of the bar a few buildings away. He may have even killed people before that, had  _ likely _ killed people before that, if Daryl’s read on the man was correct.  Yet, Daryl still trusted him and trusted his moral compass. So, maybe there was hope for him, that when he crossed that line, he wouldn’t lose whatever humanity still swirled around within him.

It didn’t matter; Daryl knew he would fire that gun when the time came, and he wouldn’t be aiming anywhere but the head. 

Just as the resolve settled over him, calming his heartbeat to a more reasonable level in preparation to do whatever he had to do, the three men at the glass door turned and walked away. Daryl hadn’t heard their conversation, so he couldn’t be sure, but he figured they’d left the library alone for the same reason he’d chosen it as a hiding spot. Whether they were looking for them or supplies, libraries were simply not a priority. They didn’t generally have food, clothing, weapons or useful gear, and Daryl couldn’t picture this group as the sort that would consider the long-term benefits of the knowledge warehoused around him. Coupled with the fact that breaking the glass door would attract the attention of whatever Walkers were lurking in the dark, and it would most likely be written off as a wasted effort.

Daryl let out a long, slow breath before carefully sneaking around a couple bookshelves to get a good look outside, and confirm that the group had lost interest in the building. They were already at the small shop next door, tugging at the door and disappearing inside when they found it unlocked. He watched and waited for several minutes until they exited that building, and confirmed that they were moving further down the street. They really were checking all the buildings for them. Or maybe supplies. Maybe both. 

Daryl padded back to the reading nook, careful not to walk directly in front of the doors, and settled in his chair. He was unsurprised to see that Rick was awake and sitting up, gun at the ready. “Walkers?” He asked in a whisper.

Daryl shook his head. 

Rubbing a hand along his face, and probably fighting off a hangover, Rick sighed. “Persistent, aren’t they? How many?”

“Three.” 

“Then there’s probably more out there. We should find a better place to hide.”

Daryl shrugged. “Think that’s it. Only three at the bar, too.”

Rick’s head jerked up, and he cringed at the pain the action caused before cursing. “Why didn’t you tell me they were at the bar when you went?”

“Didn’t seem relevant. Couldn’t leave without stitchin’ ya up, an’ couldn’t go nowhere else with ‘em already in town.” Daryl scowled, unconvinced that it would have been better to tell Rick. The idiot probably would have tried to make them leave as soon as he discovered they weren’t alone, and that just brought along the sharp, if somewhat unrealistic image of Rick dying and turning while seated behind Daryl on his motorcycle, and then biting him. 

The cop pinched the bridge of his nose, and his voice was tense and harsh when he spoke. “You have to stop keeping things from me. Running off before I woke up at the farm nearly got you killed. And you risked my life right now without even telling me I was in danger. You’ve always had the option to disagree, or not do what I ask, but now that you’re leading, you haven’t shown me the same courtesy.”  

Daryl froze in his seat. Had he somehow taken over leadership here? His mobility had given him an advantage, but he hadn’t intended to take charge. It felt like an intellectual pursuit where he was constantly outclassed, and he didn’t enjoy it, too preoccupied with the knowledge that no one would follow him willingly. Of course, Rick hadn’t been willing. “Don’t wanna lead.” 

“Then, let me.” Rick insisted, firm but soft, the sort of voice a natural leader could conjure up without effort. “I can’t make proper decisions without all the facts.”

Daryl filled him in on the brief conversation he’d overheard in the alley, and Rick nodded along attentively. Apologizing didn’t mean anything before the world ended, and it meant even less now that so much had changed, but he hoped Rick understood that being forthcoming was an attempt at making amends. 

When he was finished, Rick thought in silence for a few minutes before coming to a decision and working his pants back on in careful, deliberate movements. “We’ll leave now.”

Briefly, Daryl wondered if his faith was misplaced. Rick obviously was not skilled at self-preservation, ignoring that he was drunk, hurting, and barely stitched together in favor of running again. They could handle three, probably, and they’d already overlooked the library. “Ya shouldn’t be travelin’.”

“I know. But from what you heard, it sounds like that group is nearby and staying put, which means that sooner rather than later, they’re going to find us. That’s thirty violent, dangerous people or more that won’t hesitate to kill us, if Randall was honest. We’re out of food, not to mention everything else, and it’s too risky to move around town.” 

Daryl frowned at Rick’s assessment, but it wasn’t in disagreement. Maybe in their search parties, maybe on a supply run, maybe the Walkers would draw them, but it was a given that the awful group Randall had described was on their tail and going to find them if they did nothing. It was the same argument that had him trying to sneak past a herd of Walkers the day before: they were better off moving before their situation got any worse. And all of that was not even touching on the fact that they were falling behind their group. Rick had made it a factual, logical argument despite how his heart must be screaming at him to find his family. “Think the engine might attract some attention.”

“We’ll push it out a ways before starting it up. Should be easy enough to move around with the cover of darkness. Head back towards Hershel’s, and then loop around to hit the highway. With any luck, they’ll miss us entirely or think we’re heading the other way.”

“You can’t walk.” 

“Fine. I’ll sit on it while you do the hard work.”

“All right.” Daryl agreed, shifting to get started, but Rick raised a hand for him to wait. 

“Let’s decide where we’re going, so we don’t have to stop anywhere close. I want to get some miles between us and them before we chance that.” 

“Hang on.” Daryl grunted, levering himself out of his seat and looking across the shelves. He thought he’d spotted one for local books earlier, and he found it again easily. Most of the titles actually were about Atlanta, but there were a couple more specific ones, and Daryl flipped through those until he found a fold-out map of the area, which expanded over several surrounding counties. It seemed largely interested in pointing out local businesses and geographical features, and incidentally worked as a roadmap as well. He was pleased by the find, having expected something on a much smaller scale and only minorly useful. On his way back to Rick, he snagged a book from a display shelf on Louis L’Amour, stuffing the novel into his bag. Maybe it was stupid to pick it up when they were on the run and hurting for real supplies, but he remembered the way boredom had set in and everyone had fought over the handful of books Dale had stocked in his RV. Part of him hoped they’d somehow get back to that point.

Rick also seemed excited by the find, unfolding the paper and instantly identifying their location and State Highway 85. From there, it was easy to point out where they’d left the supplies for Sophia and where they figured their group would have met up. “So, I think we can safely assume they would have left from there and headed South.” 

Daryl nodded along unnecessarily. It was their best guess. “They stay on the main road an’ go fer distance or they take a side road?” Daryl would have headed for the woods himself, and taken back roads if that weren’t possible. He’d be less likely to run into a herd and able to feed himself better on the wildlife there. But that wouldn’t necessarily be the best option for the others since they no longer had a hunter with them. The highway would be easier to gain distance and find gas, but more dangerous overall. 

“Or did they decide on a specific destination and head straight there?” Rick added, apparently no more clear on what the best option would be than Daryl. He stared down at the map in frustration, like it would magically light up the right course of action, and Daryl joined him in silence. Finally, he tapped at the map. “We’ll take 16, and look for some promising side-roads.”

Daryl accepted the decision without complaint. All of the options were as good as the last as far as he was concerned, and the fact of the matter was that they’d have to get lucky to find their people. Rick folded up the map and stuck it in his pocket before accepting Daryl’s help in getting situated back on the motorcycle. It was undoubtedly painful, but it was unfortunately still their best option. Daryl wasn’t looking forward to the additional strain on his wrist and ankle.

The trip was made in complete silence, and Daryl was glad that Rick had had the foresight to plan out where they would head and how they would handle the trip so that he could concentrate on balancing the bike and listening for Walkers. The temperature had dropped significantly over the night and the chilly wind on his bare shoulders stopped being pleasant after about a mile of pushing the bike along. But all they had for extra clothes or blankets was that insubstantial shawl he’d found in the library, and he’d refused to take it from Rick since he was moving and could stay relatively warm. It was almost a relief to tuck into Rick’s body heat when it came time to start the engine and drive instead, even knowing that it was the most precarious part of their journey. For all they knew, the enemy camp was just out of sight or there were scouts listening for the distinctive noise of his bike.

The tension eased a great deal as they picked up speed on the more open stretches of road and Daryl could revel in the familiarity of rushing wind and a rumbling engine beneath him. He probably spent more time than necessary trailing around on the back roads before circling around towards the highway, but Rick didn’t say a word about it, so he let himself stall for a few minutes longer before returning to the now very familiar pile-up. He slowed down to make his way through carefully, but he didn’t stop. He’d asked if he should while they’d been making plans and was surprised when Rick shook his head. The cop didn’t even cite excessive danger as an excuse; he’s just stated firmly that he trusted Daryl’s assessment of the situation. It made him feel inadequate and proud at the same time. Rick’s grip tightened noticeably around his waist and Daryl wasn’t sure if it was accidental or if he was trying to comfort one or both of them.

Daryl didn’t pick up speed after they were through, but kept their progression just quick enough that they could easily maintain their balance as they scoured the surrounding areas for signs of a message or a trail or perhaps even a familiar face. It was still early, but it was fully light out by this point, which simplified the task. They both knew that it was going to take an extraordinary stroke of luck to find anyone with no resources and no clues except the assumption that they probably didn’t head back towards Atlanta. Surprisingly, a ways down Route 16, they got lucky. 

Rick was patting his hip excitedly with one hand while he used the other to point forward, but Daryl had already spotted the abandoned truck and brought the motorcycle up to a halt beside it. 

“This is one of ours, from the farm.” Rick said as soon as the engine cut out, already trying to climb off the seat and only consenting to wait at the fierce look Daryl sent his way.

“Hard to tell fer sure.” Daryl hedged. He was nearly as certain as Rick, but he didn’t think it would be wise to let their hopes run away with them.

“It is.” Rick insisted. 

“Don’t mean nothin’ ‘cept someone made it at least this far.” Daryl swept around the truck, checking the seats and the footboard, and even climbing into the truck bed to look around. “No blood.” He finally declared. “No signs of a struggle, an’ they took everythin’ with ‘em. Prolly jus’ ran outta gas.” He twisted the key still dangling in the ignition, but the car wouldn’t even start so he could see the gas gauge. He circled around again, spotting a couple half prints in the dirt, but their group had stuck largely to the asphalt. “Might of just transferred to another car an’ drove off.”

 “Yeah. Or they might’ve stayed here awhile. Looks like some sort of protection over there.” Rick was pointing down the hill towards the remains of a building that probably died in a fire long before the dead started walking, and Daryl shrugged before wheeling Rick along with him. There was no sense in not checking it out. Rick’s guess was accurate and the remains of a campfire and a well worn parcel of land greeted them as they passed the low walls. “Definitely camped here.” Rick articulated before pegging Daryl with a hopeful look. “What can you tell me?”

Daryl shrugged, examining the footprints littering the area, and the campsite at large for several minutes before returning to where Rick sat, his good leg braced on the ground. “I’d say it’s prolly all of ‘em.” He finally concluded.

“Carl?” Daryl nodded at Rick’s question, a comfort he was pleased to give. “Show me.”

The hunter nearly asked if he wanted a tracking lesson or if he wanted to look for his family, but bit down on the response before it could get out. It was what he’d said when they were looking for Sophia, and he didn’t want to remind either of them how poorly that search had resolved. Instead, he walked the bike over to a set of footprints, and gestured to them with his foot. “Light, small prints. Definitely the kid’s.”

Rick nodded absently. “Who else do you see?” 

Daryl shifted slightly and pointed to another singular shoe imprint. “Glenn’s.” Rick made a sign for him to go on, and Daryl was about to move to the next track before he realized that Rick wanted to understand how he knew. “Men tend to walk with their toes angled more outward, longer strides. Glenn’s a lighter, more narrow build than the others, which ya can see by how deep them impressions are. Over here’s T-Dog, he was standin’ guard, facin’ outward an’ leanin’ to his left like he does. His gait is pretty distinct besides. Hershel’s tracks are a mess. Ya see how he don’t pick his feet up all the way when he walks? Real common as ya get older.”  Daryl scooted them a few more steps to another series of prints. “Carol here. Recognize her shoe treads.” He gave Rick a crooked smile, which was returned. “Not so familiar with them Greene girls, so’s I ain’t completely sure between them an’ Andrea an’ Lori, but I’m thinkin’ this set is Lori’s since it’s mostly paired with Carl’s.”

“But they were all here? They’re together?”

“Seems like. Ain’t so many clear tracks as to make ‘em cut an’ dry when they was all packed in and shufflin’ ‘round.”

Rick didn’t seem put off by this assessment, just nodding in a supportive manner and smiling at the progress they’d made. He chased down every bit of information Daryl could pick up on, eating up Daryl’s ideas with intense interest, even if the hunter knew that most the information couldn’t be new or useful to him. Rick had probably already guessed that they didn’t have tents, and that they’d only stayed one night, and that there was no clear sign that they’d cooked any food, and that Carl had taken a turn on watch as well. Rick ate up every detail, and they spent hours combing over the place to make sure they hadn’t missed anything potentially useful. 

When they’d finished, Rick pulled out the map and opened it up on top of the obnoxiously designed handlebars. “They’re going to prioritize food, and with how cold it’s gotten, blankets and proper clothing. Then weapons and additional supplies. There’s a couple small businesses here with a cluster of houses that they’re bound to see if they keep on this road. We’ll go there first. If we’re lucky, we’ll run into them. If not, we can build our own supplies up and then we’ll check out this spot here, and this one here. Even if we don’t find them, we may find more signs of them that will give us an idea of what to do next.” Daryl agreed easily to the idea and was about the turn the motorcycle back to the street to leave when Rick stopped him with a surprising decision. “We’ll stay the night here. We don’t know what we might be walking into and neither of us has eaten since yesterday morning.”

When Daryl got back with a pair or rabbits, Rick had a fire going in the same spot their group had used a few nights before. While their dinner cooked, Daryl checked over Rick’s injury, belatedly realizing he should have done it before leaving to hunt. It was puffy and red and irritated, but the bleeding had definitely stopped. Rick fussed over his ankle for a few minutes before examining his wrist, which had not appreciated all the extra usage. He frowned at their unimproved state, but didn’t comment. Daryl briefly wondered if maybe Rick was spending an extra day to try and let them both rest up, but even so, he wasn’t sure if he should appreciate the gesture or feel insulted that Rick thought he couldn’t keep going. In any case, it was a good call because it was getting dark by the time they’d finished eating, and it was starting to rain. The rain was freezing, and they hurried to get in the truck rather than soak their only pair of clothing.

Daryl tucked his hands into his armpits and resisted the urge to shiver. He was wet and cold with no good prospects of getting warmer, and if the weather pattern followed yesterday, it would be damn cold. He reminded himself that he’d had plenty of experience dealing with the cold in his unheated mobile home as a kid, and that the temperature wasn’t even cold enough for frostbite to be a concern. 

Rick lifted his injured leg onto the bench style seat, turning so his back was against the door. The action forced Daryl to sit forward a little and lose some of his own seat, but he didn’t have it in him to be mad when Rick had to be in a significant amount of pain. That was the best position he could have chosen to take care of his leg. The shawl was over his back, keeping the chill of the truck’s metal from reaching Rick directly, and Daryl contemplated asking for it to cover his bare arms. 

“Daryl.” Rick said once he was situated and a few minutes had ticked by. He sounded slightly amused. Daryl eyed him suspiciously. “It’s going to be awfully hard to share body heat from this distance.”

“I’m fine.” Daryl replied automatically. Rick couldn’t seriously expect him to sit between his legs and lean against him, right? It wasn’t that cold yet. The rain may have been a lot closer to freezing rain than normal, but they hadn’t even had their first snow of the season. 

“Well, I’m not. I’m cold, and I don’t intend to get sick on top of our other problems, so get your ass over here.” Rick patted the bench invitingly, which was not effective, before trying to downplay the issue. “It’s not really any different than me holding onto you while you were driving. Practically the same position.”

Daryl let out a sigh before reluctantly shuffling over and cautiously leaning his back against Rick’s chest. He didn’t dislike being touched exactly, but he didn’t have a whole lot of pleasant experiences associated with it, so it was really just an uncomfortable waiting game until it ended. There was no way he was going to be able to relax enough with Rick’s arms wrapped loosely over him to get any sleep. But he wasn’t going to get any rest shivering and cold, either. At least this way, he wouldn’t get sick and Rick would have a chance to sleep. “Tell anyone ‘bout this an’ I’ll gut ya.”

Rick didn’t call him out on the obvious lie, nor did he point out that there was no one to tell. Instead, he agreed and solemnly stated, “I promise I won’t tell anyone we cuddled.”

If Rick weren’t already badly injured, Daryl would have given him something to think about for calling huddling for warmth ‘cuddling’, but since he couldn’t, he concentrated his effort on ignoring the other man as best he possibly could while still being pressed up against him. He didn’t expect that he could fall asleep with someone else in his personal space like this, but he did.

 

============


	6. Infection

Glenn, Maggie and T-Dog volunteered to check the pharmacy as the last stop before they left the area and searched for something more stable further to the south. It was more well-known than the little shop that Glenn and Maggie went to near the farm, but there was still a chance some of the supplies had been overlooked. Everyone else stayed in the cars. 

Maggie tapped quietly on the door to see if anything was nearby, then again louder. When no Walkers came to check out the sound, she and Glenn pushed open the door. “Watch our backs?” She confirmed with T-Dog. He nodded, propping open the door with his foot and swiveling his head around to make sure they were safe.

The place had clearly been ransacked once or twice before, but they still looked around, particularly since the store was devoid of Walkers. The pair circled the aisles, picking up a few dropped boxes of bandages and painkillers. Glenn grinned and held up a box of tampons triumphantly. Maggie rolled her eyes but smiled. 

The haul was disappointingly small, but they’d expected as much. When they finished with the front, they moved to the closed door of the back room, pausing when they heard snarling. 

“I think it’s just the one.” Maggie said, pressing her ear to the door. “Should we try it?”

Glenn nodded. “Could be something useful back there.” He readied his knife and his gun while Maggie pulled open the door, but nothing rushed him. Instead, they looked in to see a single Walker dangling from a noose, chair kicked over several feet away. The Walker looked excited to see them, growling and stretching its arms toward them, but it was not within reach. 

Glenn walked around the creature, staying out of its reach, and rifling through the bins on the back shelves while Maggie spotted a note left on the desk nearby and popped it open to read. 

“Bingo!” Glenn exclaimed, holding up several bottles. “Real medicine. I think these ones are some sort of antibiotic. We should get your dad to see if they’re useful.”

“Just take them all. No telling what we might come down with.” Maggie suggested distractedly. “This is interesting.”

Glenn looked up from stuffing his bag, finishing quickly and rejoining his girlfriend. He read a few lines over her shoulder. “Suicide note?” His tone of voice suggested that he couldn’t see what was so interesting about that. 

“It’s just… it doesn’t say he got bit. He gave up and decided to hang himself but he didn’t mention getting bit.” Her voice was carefully even.

“So? Plenty of reasons not to want to live in this world without getting bit.” He declared somberly.

“Yeah, of course. But why’s he a Walker if he didn’t get bit?”

Glenn looked back up to the gurgling corpse strung from the ceiling where Maggie was already staring. They couldn’t see any bites, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. “You know, when Daryl and I found Randall as a Walker, Daryl seemed pretty certain that he wasn’t bit, either. His neck was snapped, but that was it. I figured it was dark in the woods, and we’d just missed something.”

Maggie looked back at Glenn intensely. “What if you don’t have to get bit? What if everyone turns when they die?” 

“Let’s cut him down and have your dad check him over first.” Glenn suggested, righting the chair so he could reach the rope. “Make sure that’s what we’re looking at.”

Maggie tucked the note underneath a family photo sitting on the desk. She doubted there was anyone left who’d come looking, but it’d be there in case. “And if it’s true? That we don’t have to get bit to turn? What then?” 

“Doesn’t really change anything, does it? We just… I don’t know… plan accordingly?”

Maggie nodded absently. The thought had terrified her at first, the idea that they were all already infected with some sort of virus, but maybe it wasn’t that bad. People weren’t keeling over for no reason because of it. The only real difference was that if someone died for a reason that wasn’t a bite, they still had to… plan accordingly. That’s how she’d tell everyone else, after they talked it over with her dad.

  
  


=================

 

It’d been three days of searching, and every second of it was frustrating. They couldn’t put in much time because of their injuries, so it was a slow crawl through house after house. Some of the houses were empty, others had a few Walkers, some had bodies. Many of the houses in the small neighborhood looked to have been looted, but it was difficult to tell what exactly had happened. Had the owners simply left in a disorganized hurry, tearing up their own house in their haste to locate everything of use? Had one neighbor searched houses nearby before leaving? Had a group come by later to clear the place out? Was it their group? Any of these possibilities seemed as likely as the last, and none of the evidence pointed one way over another. 

Even the slowly growing pile of supplies was not enough to deter their building frustration. They’d found a working car and enough gas to drive it and had started to load it up with the most useful things that had been left behind, primarily clothes and blankets, but every once in a while, they got lucky with food, medicine and weapons. They were fortunate enough that they were eating well without hunting, but they hadn’t run across a single sign of their friends. 

In the evenings, they’d barricade a room on the second floor of a house where Walkers couldn’t stumble through the windows, then check over each other’s injuries. Daryl was healing despite continuing to use his ankle, but he was not impressed with how Rick’s leg was doing, huffing in disappointment every time the wound was unmasked, unnecessarily reminding him that they should keep on the lookout for antibiotics. Rick didn’t need the reminder. He felt weaker by the day, struggling to keep up with even their slow pace and stealing naps nearly every time they took a break. 

On their fourth day, Rick decided that they were going to check out one of the other neighborhoods he’d pointed out as a possibility, and they ran into their first living person. Rick’s gun was already drawn for the express purpose of clearing the house of Walkers, and the woman had her sword drawn and brandished, likely for the same reason. Neither of them spoke at first, staring each other down instead, until a creak of a floorboard caused the woman’s eyes to dart to the space behind her. Rick couldn’t see past the open kitchen doorway from his angle, but the stranger stiffened, shifted her weight, and grudgingly lowered her katana. So, Rick made an educated guess that it was probably Daryl with his crossbow knocked and aimed at her. The intrusion broke the spell of silence.

“We’re not interested in hurting you.” Rick slid his gun back into its holster. It was really an empty gesture since Daryl was still armed behind her, but he hoped it conveyed his honest intent. “We’re just collecting supplies and looking for our people, my family.” 

The woman’s eyes darted between Rick and Daryl before she settled on a vague response. “Haven’t seen many folks.” 

“My wife, she’s-” Rick was just about to produce his small collection of photographs from his breast pocket when Daryl took a step into the room so he was clearly in Rick’s line of sight and quickly shook his head. His bow was still at the ready. Rick aborted his attempt, frustrated that he couldn’t ask the proper questions but trusting Daryl’s judgement. “You see anyone around here?”

The shrug given in response wasn’t exactly casual, but she didn’t strike Rick as lying when she said, “Just me and mine.” That could mean a whole lot of things these days, and could be a whole range of numbers, but he figured that was probably her intent.

“We got this place. Find somewheres else.” Daryl growled. 

The woman nodded, waited until Daryl was fully out of her way, then passed by him to exit through the back door.  Daryl padded to the window and watched her leave. Rick sidled up beside him. “Why’d you do that? We could use a group, or at least more information. She might have known something useful.”

“An’ if she worked with Randall’s group? Yer clues could get ‘em killed.”

“Don’t know that there are many women that would work with them from what you got out of Randall.” Rick frowned, watching as the best hope in days to find his family walked out of sight behind some cars. “Besides, she didn’t seem the type.” 

“Shows what you know.” Daryl scoffed. “Lady had a pair of Walkers chained up that she were draggin’ ‘round. Mauled ‘em, too, takin’ off their arms an’ jaws. Some fucked up shit.”

Rick turned, scanning Daryl’s face for any sense that he was lying or exaggerating. “Why would anyone do that?” 

“Beats me.” 

“Alright. Let’s get out of this neighborhood. We’ll try that trailer park we passed earlier.” It would bring them backwards, closer to Hershel’s farm than the other two places they’d searched so far, but it was the last place he could think of that their group might head to collect supplies before leaving the area. God, he hoped they hadn’t left the area yet. 

“Good. Saw a pharmacy there.”

The pharmacy was empty, thoroughly looted and shot up to boot. It wasn’t all that surprising. Rick let himself hope that it was his own group that had looted the place and left with medicine in case of future injuries. They turned the place upside down anyway, on the off-chance that something had been overlooked that they could make use of. Daryl kicked a shelf over in frustration, but Rick didn’t have the heart to reprimand him about the noise he was making. It wasn’t like the archer didn’t know, anyway. 

In the back room, their gaze was immediately caught by a body sprawled on the ground beneath a dangling rope from the ceiling, noose still wrapped around its neck. Rick confirmed it was dead before checking through the bins in the back. He glanced over his shoulder only to find that Daryl hadn’t moved, still looking at the body. “Someone you knew?”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah, jus’ saw somethin’ like this with Andrea once. Walker strung up on a noose. She asked me to kill it, even though it couldn’t get at us.”

Rick pushed himself back to his feet, nearly stumbling as he moved to stand, an action that was not lost on Daryl. He waved the hunter away when he moved to help and took a few unsteady steps toward the body. He felt like shit even with the painkillers he’d finished off earlier that day. “Think it was her?” 

Daryl shrugged. “Could be anyone.”

Rick nodded like that was somehow helpful and turned to leave, bracing himself on the doorframe as he left the back room. “We should clear a couple places before it gets dark.”

“Nah.” Daryl objected casually, but his eyes were heavy on Rick’s back. “You should sit tight and rest. I’ll clear a few places an’ come back.”

“The pharmacy is the first place anyone’s going to check.” Rick pointed out. “Besides, my leg is probably infected in a bad way. Sitting tight isn’t going to make it better.” Daryl knew that, of course. It’s why he was so frustrated at finding not one thing of use in the store. But Rick stated it anyway because they weren’t in a position to ignore the looming consequences any longer. If they found their group, and Hershel, he’d likely make it. If they found some more medication, particularly antibiotics, he might survive this infection. As it stood, they were banking on some fiercely bad odds that his body would fight off the infection on its own. He was trying to muscle his way through and his body was running on fumes. 

Daryl didn’t kick up a fuss at Rick insisting on joining him as they drove down the road a ways and cautiously swept through some of the trailers for anything of use. They made it through seven mobile homes before it started to get dark. They could have gone through more but there were a couple that Daryl absolutely picked to pieces, tearing open mattresses, opening up vents, and shuffling around for loose floor boards. And Rick could see why, even if he did sit down and rest halfway through the search. There were all the hallmark signs of a drug addict’s residence that Rick had been trained to notice at the Academy, and Daryl must have picked up from all his years with Merle. He assumed anyway. It wasn’t a conversation he cared to broach. In the end, they found nothing worth keeping besides one rifle, a few blankets, and two cartons of cigarettes. 

Rick was so exhausted by the time they’d decided on a trailer that didn’t smell like death that he practically collapsed on the bed in the first room he came across and couldn’t persuade himself to move. He jerked awake with his gun drawn when Daryl came in carrying a bowl of stew some time later. There wasn’t any light left.

“Sorry.” He muttered, pushing himself against the wall so he could sit up enough to eat. He wasn’t apologizing for pointing a weapon on his friend, but he was feeling a little guilty over falling asleep when there was work to be done.

Daryl grunted in response, inhaling his own food as soon as Rick started eating. Rick figured it wasn’t a good sign that he couldn’t finish his portion and didn’t feel any more energized for having eaten it. If anything, he felt a little nauseous. “Lay down.” Daryl commanded after Rick deliberated for a few minutes. While Rick worked on situating himself, fully clothed and with his shoes still on in case they needed to move quickly, the hunter took away their dishes and put them in the other room, returning with a bottle of water that he set on the bedside table. “Move over.”

Rick shifted and turned on his side so he was facing the wall, feeling the bed dip under Daryl’s weight and then the warmth of his body behind him, close enough to touch but not touching. The mattress was only a full sized, thankfully bigger than the narrow twins he’d seen in most of the rooms they’d visited today, but not as large as would be comfortable for them to share. Still, he didn’t complain, or even mention it. If Daryl was sharing the space with him, it was because the other man had deemed it necessary. Probably, the other mattresses in the trailer were lousy or gross. Rick didn’t know because he’d barely made it into this space. Or maybe Daryl was just as tired as Rick, and he didn’t want to drag another mattress in. Whatever the logic, Rick was glad for the company because it was chilly, even with the blanket Daryl had hastily thrown over them and the way he seemed to be sweating. 

“Should probably keep watch.” Rick mumbled half-heartedly. He wasn’t sure he could so much as stand, but his mind had helpfully reminded him that this location wasn’t as secure as their previous ones. 

“Already put up a perimeter. Sleep.” Daryl’s voice rumbled in his ear, thick with sleep.

Rick wasn’t surprised at the efficiency but he was surprised to find that he’d fallen asleep for so long before dinner. He felt guilty again that he hadn’t helped, but he wasn’t sure that he would have been much use. 

In the morning, Rick woke to Daryl trying to extricate himself from his clingy embrace. They’d somehow managed to reverse positions in their sleep, and Rick had plastered himself to the warmth of Daryl’s back.

“Yer a furnace.” He grumbled with a concerned look. “Take off yer pants.”

Rick snorted and started working at his pants. It was harder than he remembered it being. “Not even gonna buy me a drink?” Daryl ignored the comment, helping by tugging his jeans from the ankles until they were obnoxiously wrapped around his knees. They both stared at his injury. “Well, that doesn’t look good.”  

And it didn’t. The wound looked off-colored and inflamed and pus seemed to be playing a much larger role in the scene than it had before. Only one thought crossed Rick’s brain at the sight. ‘I’m going to die.’ 

Daryl’s face said something similar, but he didn’t voice it. He just nodded at Rick. “Right. Stay here an’ try to sleep. I’ll find somethin’ for ya.”

Rick couldn’t have protested if he wanted to. He didn’t feel well enough to stand up and move around. So, when Daryl left, Rick guzzled half the water and then went back to sleep. 

The hours blurred together, with Daryl coming and going, and Rick too weak to keep track of him or the weapon he should probably be pointing at the door every time he heard a noise. It could have been days for all he knew. He did remember it being light and dark from the window by the bed, but with the way everything was spinning, he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his mind making things up. Daryl tried to get him to eat and drink, but he didn’t know if anything made it down. At some point, Daryl had tied one of his wrists to the bedframe and dragged in a mattress which he slept in on the far side of the room. Rick wasn’t sure if he’d made the request or if Daryl had just understood the need. Probably the latter. Daryl was good at surviving. 

Rick was still tied to the bed when he heard a voice he didn’t recognize, and opened his eyes to the blurry form of a man in a red cap waving a hand in front of his face. “Shit, I should just put you outta yer misery.”

Rick swallowed hard, trying to focus his vision. “Ain’t bit.” He stated, trying to make his voice firm and loud.

“Don’t matter none. You ain’t gonna make it.” The stranger smiled like he was enjoying this. “I’ll help ya out.”

Fumbling under the pillow with his free hand, Rick searched for his colt. He couldn’t feel it, so it’d probably fallen to the ground or beneath the bed during all his fevered shifting. Fat lot of good it did him there. “There’s no need for that.” He stretched out his free arm, trying to placate the man in the red cap, but it was heavy and he had to drop it back onto the bedding. 

“Come on, now. You gotta know yer just holdin’ yer people back like this. They’re giving their food and water away to a dead man.”

The comment stabbed at his heart. He was holding Daryl back due to his injury, and there didn’t seem to be a snowball’s chance in hell that he was going to recover. Daryl could find his family, could protect them, but not if he was lugging around a man who was a hair’s breadth away from death. His hand landed on his gun by accident under the blanket, but now he wondered if he should even use it.

Before either of them could say or do anything more, the cap was skewered by a wooden bolt while still astride the stranger’s head. His dead weight fell heavily onto Rick’s chest before Daryl was at his side, yanking it off and fumbling to cut loose the rope around his wrist. “Gotta go, Rick.” Daryl muttered urgently, glancing up repeatedly at the open bedroom door and the exposed glass window, like he wouldn’t hear the danger coming before he saw it. Rick tried to comply, but his limbs refused to listen to him and seemed to buckle under the slightest weight. 

“Shit.” Daryl grunted, swinging his crossbow over his shoulder and lifting Rick into a fireman’s carry. He grabbed Rick’s gun to occupy one hand while he used the other to keep Rick balanced over his shoulders. 

Daryl took a few strides forward, out of the room and towards the front door when it banged open and several boots appeared in Rick’s field of vision. His head swam, and then he passed out. 

 

=================

 

Andrea let out a sigh of relief at her friend’s return, falling into step easily beside her. It had taken some convincing on Michonne’s part that sweeping houses could be a one person job if that one person was careful and systematic, but they had yet to run into trouble and were covering ground a whole lot faster. Michonne had been doing it for weeks before they met, but Andrea was still concerned when she took longer than necessary. “I was starting to get worried. Find something interesting?”

“People.” Michonne replied succinctly as she tugged her docile Walkers behind her. “Not your group.” 

“Are you sure?” Andrea asked, excited and anxious all at once. This was the first time they’d run into anyone alive.

“Just two white guys. One of them trying to find his wife.”

Andrea’s mind leapt to Shane and Rick, and slowed their progression. She looked back hopefully. They weren’t far yet, the pair could still be there. “Cops?”

“Didn’t look it, and we didn’t exactly exchange pleasantries.” Michonne finally stopped and gave Andrea a sympathetic look. “You said there were a few cars that made it out, maybe most of your group, that they’d have known to meet at the pile-up we searched. You said we’re searching for a dozen people, not two.”

“They could have been separated somehow, like me. Or know something. At the very least, we could search together. We’d do better with more people.”

Michonne shook her head firmly, grasping Andrea’s shoulder with her free hand. “We agreed to search for one week and then move on. So, let’s move on.”

It was an agreement they’d made when they met, and Andrea didn’t regret it. Search for her group for a week, then start making preparations for winter. It was already starting to get cold, particularly at night, and they needed to make sure they had the proper food, supplies, and shelter if they expected to survive. “We still have the rest of today.” Andrea said with mixed feelings before letting herself be pulled on. Andrea wondered if it was worth fighting just a little harder. On one hand, her group had kept her alive, taught her to shoot and take care of herself, and was filled with decent people she felt she could trust. On the other hand, with Dale gone, it certainly didn’t feel like she had anything close to a family with them; some of them still had lingering grudges when they parted ways. She wondered if that was why they hadn’t left a message for her about where they were going. She figured it probably had more to do with them assuming she was dead. 

“They were pretty rough around the edges. Could be part of that other group you were talking about, the ones that threatened your friends in the bar. And even if they are alone and they are good people, one of them looked pretty sick, probably bit. We’re leaving.”

Andrea nodded, keeping pace with Michonne and putting the strangers out of her mind. They needed to concentrate on making it through winter.

 

=============


	7. The Living

Several things quickly became apparent, and Daryl had no idea how to address any of them. It was going to take a miracle to find their group by searching random houses nearby. They had no way of knowing if they had even gone to these houses or had any reason to stick around. Any looting that may have happened in the area had to have taken place several days before at the very least, and Rick’s injury was only getting worse. 

They spent nearly a week looking for their group. More accurately, Daryl spent nearly a week looking for signs of their group and desperately trying to locate some appropriate medicine. Rick spent four days searching before using the rest of the time to alternate between comatose and hallucinating. When Rick could no longer get out of bed, Daryl started scrambling for something that might work. 

Daryl didn’t know much about drugs of the legal and medicinal variety. He’d never once set foot in a hospital in response to any of his numerous injuries or illnesses over the years. The illegal and recreational sort were a little more in his realm of knowledge, but only to the extent that he understood when he’d have to peel his brother off the floor and when he had better duck and run from Merle’s buddies. The second-hand experience was enough to avoid most of that shit. Daryl had no medical training and could kill his friend by giving him the wrong medication or in the wrong dosage. But none of that mattered anymore. The only thing that mattered was finding something, anything that could give Rick a fighting chance. 

The trailer park was a big fat zero, so the hunter circled back to the small neighborhood where they’d run into that psycho with a sword and swept through the houses they hadn’t gotten a chance to look through. When there was nothing for Rick there either, he figured that someone, or several someones had gotten there first and conducted a very thorough search. Even his secondary concerns, like food, warm clothing, and weapons were hard to come by. He finally settled on a thick woolen poncho stuffed in the back of one hall closet when the nip in the evening air proved too unpleasant for his light summer clothing. 

Daryl returned to Rick’s bedside empty handed just after noon, ignoring the potent smell of sweat and body odor. He picked up the washcloth from the tepid bowl of water on the floor and patted down Rick’s forehead and neck as he laid out his next set of ideas. Hershel’s farm might have something left over. Or the pharmacy Maggie took Glenn to on horseback. Maybe he could track down the van that had been taken from them as there’d been medicine among the lost supplies. He could even head further north, back towards Atlanta where the pile-ups were bigger and there were more things to find. 

“I… I don’ know what to do.” Daryl finally admitted. He had the oddest urge to curl up next to his friend’s overheated body and drift away from these problems. The fact of the matter  was that while he’d always been better on his own, he no longer wanted that. He’d spent most of his life alone with the occasional interruption of Merle, but even though he loved his brother, he didn’t really like him. When Merle was around, the archer longed for the peace and quiet of solitude. But somehow with Rick knocking at death’s door, the thought of returning to his previous norm terrified Daryl. He couldn’t let Rick die.

Rick’s eyes were glazed over and his responses were utterly incoherent. This was obviously not one of his better moments, which were getting fewer and further between, and Daryl released a sigh of disappointment. The hunter helped his friend sit up and slowly poured some water into his mouth. The cop swallowed some, but most of it trailed down his neck to wet his shirt. 

“Hold on.” He muttered as he stood up following a good hour long break where he forced himself to eat a small meal despite his roiling stomach and contemplated over the local map, collecting his gear to head back out. The archer had just sat astride his bike and was about to turn it on when he spotted a few forms meandering through the trailer park, their steps too sure to be Walkers. The park was rectangular in shape, but with none of the regularity that might suggest, and back up against some thick forest.

Daryl quickly wheeled the motorcycle out of sight. Because of where the people scattered in the park were moving through, he actually brought the bike to the front of the building he and Rick were using and tucked it beside the front porch to keep it from being noticed immediately, listening to the heavy footsteps and occasional shouts of conversation. Then he inched around the side of the building to get a better look at what was going on, crossbow armed and at the ready. There were three men that he could see, one of them smoking or perhaps keeping guard and looking the opposite way, one looking into the filthy cracked windows of a mobile home fifty feet away, and one with a red hat ambling straight for the trailer Daryl was crouched beside. A lacy pink curtain fluttered in another, suggesting that these three were certainly not the entire group. He wasn’t sure if it was the heat from the sun blazing above in the first bit of warmth they’d experienced all week or the way his mind was fumbling for a method to escape with Rick in tow, but sweat was starting to trickle along his hairline as he took quick darting looks around.

A slight crunch of gravel alerted Daryl to the presence of someone else behind him, and he forced himself not to give away his only advantage. If the person attempting to sneak up on him hadn’t shot him yet, they might not want him dead, but he didn’t want them to know their position was compromised as well. Whoever it was might have been a hunter themselves for how stealthy their steps were and how close they’d managed to get before he’d heard the shifting rocks.

Not hearing much else, Daryl estimated their speed before spinning around and taking a large step forward right when they were within reach. He had just a moment to register the stranger’s surprised expression before Daryl clocked him in the head with his bow. The man tumbled to the ground, rifle slipping from his grasp and faded jean vest sprawling out, and didn’t move. Daryl kicked him in the leg to make sure he was really out before dashing up the small set of stairs to the front door. He could kill the stranger, probably should kill him, but he’d rather avoid crossing that line if at all possible. Besides, if things went sideways, he could use the man with the mostly white and gray hair as a hostage. 

Pushing those thoughts aside, Daryl concentrated on sneaking back into the trailer. The guy with the red cap was surely inside already and had likely found Rick. He padded along the floor, careful to keep his footsteps as light as possible and roaming the small house with his eyes to make sure no one else was around. But the unfamiliar voice in their bedroom gave away the location easily. 

“You gotta know yer just holdin’ yer people back like this.” 

Daryl slunk into the doorway and lined up a shot. The bastard was apparently trying to convince Rick that he was a burden. And he sounded like he was getting off on the whole situation. Daryl hesitated a moment despite the anger swirling in him at the terrible claims being made. He could kill the man threatening Rick’s life, but Rick himself would probably prefer that he gave the would-be murderer a chance to go quietly. Of course, one shout, and they’d all be dead. 

“They’re giving their food and water away to a dead man.” 

Red cap’s finger slid toward the trigger. Daryl fired his bow. It wasn’t as hard killing a man as Daryl thought it should be, and the action didn’t weigh on him as heavily as he expected. In fact, he dismissed that man and his lifeless body from one breath to the next, concentrating solely on the next step in protecting Rick. 

Rick didn’t put up a fuss over Daryl lifting him over his shoulders, which was probably a bad sign. He was unnaturally limp in his grip, and Daryl silently begged his friend to hold on just a little longer. 

The door swung open and there was the guy he’d knocked out, blood dripping from his nose and the side of his head, but looking more intrigued than angry. The same could not be said for the two men behind him, a chubby, balding man and a slender long haired man with a bushy beard, both of whom had weapons raised on him. Beard looked like he might have an itchy trigger finger. Daryl kept Rick’s gun pointed at the one he’d bloodied.

“You pull that trigger, these boys are gonna drop you several times over.” The man waited a beat, obviously expecting Daryl to lower his weapon, but not reacting when he didn’t. “Name’s Joe.”

“Daryl.”

Joe nodded, dropping his rifle from his shoulder and casually directing it at them. “Dan, check the rooms. Make sure we’re alone.” Daryl stiffened without thought, a motion that Joe’s keen eyes seemed to catch and note with interest. “Something you wanna tell me?”

Daryl contemplated for a moment, but he couldn’t see any way out of the scenario. There was no way he could kill all three of these men before they shot both him and Rick, and there was no way he was going to be able to prevent Dan from spotting the body lying in the open just around the corner. “He was gonna kill my friend.” It was the truth and, he supposed, the reason he didn’t feel one shred of guilt over the action. 

“Shit! They got Mitch!” Dan’s voice was overly loud in the small, quiet house. 

Daryl kept his gaze locked with Joe’s who strangely instructed the other two not to shoot him unless he tried something. Cautiously, he followed the older man’s instructions to walk into the bedroom and put Rick back down on the bed. Daryl tried to keep his movements casual as he felt for a pulse from the limp body, letting out a breath when he found it slow and steady beneath his fingers.

“A bowman. I respect that.” Joe stated calmly as he rolled the red capped and bolt-pierced Mitch onto his back with a careless prod from his foot. “See, a man with a rifle, he could have been some kind of photographer or soccer coach back in the day. But a bowman’s a bowman through and through.” Daryl felt Joe’s eyes heavy on his back, but the stranger didn’t step any closer, obviously having learned his lesson from outside. “What you got there, I’ll be donkey-licked if you didn’t lug that thing around before all this went down. Though, personally, I’d want one with a bit more ammo and minus the oblongata stains.” 

Daryl turned to face the hostile newcomers as Beard grumbled, arms twitching like he was considering firing before Joe gave the signal. “What are you playing at, Joe? They killed Mitch. Let’s shoot ‘em and go.” 

“Didn’t much care for Mitch. Always trying to shirk the rules. Lied to me once, too.” Joe raised his arm to halt Beard, keeping his eyes on Daryl. “You killed him, but you didn’t kill me. Why’s that?”

Daryl scanned the room again, like some exit strategy would suddenly present itself. He wasn’t about to tell Joe that he had hoped to leverage him as a hostage. So he just repeated himself. “He was gonna kill my friend.” 

Joe cocked his head as he watched Daryl with an intensity that made the archer uncomfortable. It was like already Joe had him all figured out, which was probably fair. Daryl only had one goal anymore: keep him and Rick alive at all costs. The gray haired man seemed more interested in him than the situation warranted, and Daryl was torn between thinking that it might be his way out of here alive or that it would make their situation significantly worse. It could even be both. “You do a lot of hunting before all this, Daryl?”

Daryl blinked at the unexpected segue. “Yeah.” He responded cautiously.

“You any good?”

He shrugged. “Guess so.”

“Your friend, he bit?” Joe asked, eyes finally skittering to the form lying still on the bed.

Daryl shook his head. “Ain’t bit.”

“He a hunter, too?” Daryl nearly shook his head again, but then decided that since Joe seemed to be putting a value on the skill, he’d be better off lying, even if that was obviously a fast-track onto Joe’s bad side. He nodded. “Alright, bring him. We’ll see if our doctor can do anything.”

At the word doctor, Daryl dropped his guard and scooped Rick back up. He still didn’t trust them one inch, but since he was already in their hands, he didn’t want to dissuade them from having their doctor see Rick. He was going to get Rick help, even if he had to walk straight into the lion’s den to do it. The other two men kicked up a fuss at Joe’s decision, but didn’t shoot him, so Daryl considered that a win. 

Daryl was ushered into the backseat of a rusty car that reeked of death, propping Rick up beside him and watching over him. He heard the distinct roar of his brother’s bike coming to life and looked out the window to see another man he didn’t recognize taking it with them. He wanted to scream for them to leave it alone, but it would be easier to make this trip by car, and now was not the time to anger their captors.

They made no effort to blindfold him or prevent him from knowing the location of their camp, which Daryl figured was probably a bad sign, but he watched attentively anyway. He wasn’t really surprised when they wound their way back into the town with the little library they’d holed up in, and then moved onwards to a two story motel at the opposite end of town. He’d considered that Joe’s group and Randall’s group might be one in the same when he first spotted them clearing houses in the trailer park, but the bustling of activity in and around the motel seemed to confirm the idea. There was no way two large groups were coexisting in this small area, especially with the hostile tendencies he’d observed in them.

Daryl hoisted Rick back over his shoulders and followed Joe through the jarringly clean lobby and into a decent sized office space in the back. There were several armed men patrolling, but none of them made any attempt to stop Joe or his new company. Inside the office, a balding man with black hair sat in a cushioned computer chair with his feet crossed and lazily draped over the desk. He was chatting with a middle-aged woman with stern features and a pointed nose. They both looked up at Joe’s entrance and stopped talking, eyes flickering to Rick and Daryl with curiosity.

“Heard the motorcycle come up. You the stragglers from that group on the farm, the one that killed my men that were scouting at the bar?” The man asked in a nasally voice, not bothering to stand up or assume a more aggressive position, even with his aggressive tone and accusations. He was well aware that he held all the cards.

Daryl gave a sideways glance at Joe before returning his gaze to the two others who seemed to have some sort of authority here. He wondered how much they knew. Had the man who’d gotten away seen Rick? Would he recognize his voice? Did he know his name? “Ain’t stragglers. Just been us. Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout yer men in a bar.” He shifted Rick a little on his shoulders, his dead weight was becoming very uncomfortable, and he wished the doctor would come and take care of him while this interrogation went on.

“So, what? You lived in that trailer park, saw the fireworks, and decided to stick around to gather supplies?” 

Even though it was presented as an easy explanation, Daryl could practically feel the trap in the statement, though he wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe they’d checked the trailer park before. “Nah, we was in Atlanta, headed South so’s we could gather supplies some place with fewer geeks.” Daryl intentionally avoided using the term Walkers, thinking that Rick would have tried to negotiate and that was a term that could have come up, could label them as the ones from the bar. The whole conversation felt like walking barefoot through a field of mousetraps. “Saw that farm overrun, figured there might be somethin’ good there an’ set off fireworks to clear the place fer us.”

The leader nodded just a fraction, giving Daryl the hope that he might have avoided labelling himself as a liar. “Why’d you run from us if you weren’t the ones who attacked our group?”

“Same reason y’all fired on us at the farm.” Daryl shot back pointedly. “Can’t trust strangers no more.”

The woman rolled her eyes and stood, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the desk. Her voice was clipped and clear, her accent one he’d heard on television that he generally just categorized as northern city dweller, but might possibly suggest New York. “Part of that group or not, why are these two still alive, Joe? We agreed to remove any threats so we can stay here for the winter.”

“Yeah, Jane, and we also agreed that we’re going to need to put more emphasis on alternate sources of food if we’re staying put. These boys are hunters. They’ll be worth patching up and keeping around.”

 Jane did not look impressed. “You’ve already got several hunters. Len, Billy, Harley, Lou…”

“And we’ve got three dozen people we need to feed. We don’t need a repeat of the last time we ran out of food.” Joe shrugged one shoulder dismissively, and Daryl realized that Joe was not asking permission, but informing the other two. He briefly considered if Joe might be the actual leader, but concluded that there was some sort of three-way power structure between them. Or maybe the group was actually three groups working together. He wasn’t entirely sure, but it still eased something inside him because if Joe said they were in, they were apparently already in. He’d worry about getting out later.

Jane snorted. “You can’t possibly believe his crap about it being just the two of them. There was a carseat in that van they were loading. They’ve got others.”

Daryl’s heart started to pound, sweat prickling at his hairline despite being out of the sun now. Joe didn’t tolerate liars. He tried to keep his voice calm and level. “‘S just us. Used to be others, my brother fer one. His son. But it’s just us for a while now.”

“Relax.” The man at the desk said, standing up as well, and ignoring Daryl to look at Jane. He was unexpectedly short for the sort of air of authority he carried. “They’ll stay enclosed at night, and since he seems to care for his friend, there, he’ll have good motivation to stick around and keep producing.” Daryl was pretty sure ‘enclosed’ was some sort of code for locked up somewhere, and that there was definitely a threat regarding Rick’s life, but he hadn’t really expected anything different from these sorts of people. He was a little surprised by the brazen threat that followed. “Besides, we can always kill them later.”

They were interrupted by Dan appearing, pushing a metal food cart, and a graying older woman whose skittishness reminded Daryl of Carol and instantly provoked a sense of emptiness. He pushed the thought back down as quickly as it came. The cart had a flat metal top where he was directed to place Rick. It obviously wasn’t designed as a gurney, and his calves and feet dangled off the end. The woman felt for a pulse before directing Dan to push the cart away. 

“I’m Harlan.” The short leader introduced himself before Daryl could follow. “Welcome to The Living.”

No one tried to stop him from following Rick, and he was led to one of the motel rooms on the first floor just a few doors down that smelled strongly of antiseptic. He and Dan lifted Rick onto the empty queen bed and stripped him of his pants so the doctor could see the oozing wound. She tisked under her breath but otherwise didn’t comment as she set to work. Dan drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and latched it to Rick’s wrist and the headboard, the metallic snick sounding loud in the quiet. Daryl glared hard at him, but didn’t want to risk stopping him. Instead, the archer just tested the cuffs to make sure they weren’t too tight the moment Dan left the room.

Daryl’s eyes circled the room to assess threats in between monitoring the woman for signs that she meant Rick any harm. She had the clinical, detached mannerisms of someone who’d worked in a hospital for many years, and Daryl decided that she probably was a legitimate doctor. On the other bed, there was a boy roughly Carl’s age stitching up a cut on a broad man’s hairy arm. The boy was probably not a legitimate doctor. 

“My grandson, Tyler.” The doctor said quietly as she worked at thoroughly cleaning the festering wound on Rick’s leg, apparently taking in where Daryl’s gaze had landed while still concentrating on her task. “He’s learned enough to handle the easier cases. It keeps him safe.”

Daryl nodded, wondering what exactly she meant by that. Randall’s description of this group had been disgusting and something monstrous. He honestly hadn’t expected to find women working openly with them, especially not in the sort of position Jane held. No, this was a group that admitted to raping young girls in front of their father. What did they do to young boys that weren’t deemed as valuable? Rape them, too? Or maybe kill them outright? Or were those sorts of atrocities reserved for outside of camp?

“My name’s Judith.” She continued, unconcerned that Daryl wasn’t talking. “Your friend here has quite the infection, but I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now.”

“He gonna live?” 

The doctor hesitated long enough to unsettle Daryl’s stomach. What if it was too late, and now he was stuck with these monsters instead of Rick? “I don’t know.”

Daryl clenched his jaw and ignored the urge to shake the doctor and demand better answers. Instead, he just watched in silence as the woman steadily worked through her process, injecting Rick with something after a few minutes before examining the stitches. 

“You do these? Not too bad.” Judith commented lightly. After several more minutes, the man being treated by Tyler stood up and lumbered from the room without so much as a thank you. The boy joined them, hovering nearby but carefully out of the way. 

“How’d ya wind up with these folks?”

The doctor looked up, and an understanding passed between them that they were amongst bad people and none of them wanted to be there. “We’re from Virginia. Richmond. Everything there was just… gone. We heard that there was help in Washington, so we headed there. Ran into The Living along the way. They said there wasn’t any way to get to Washington and  _ suggested _ we go with them.” The doctor’s eyes darted over to the kid beside her.

The conversation slowed, but didn’t evaporate and Daryl found that he didn’t mind that Judith was looking over Rick. He felt confident in her abilities and relatively comfortable in leaving the injured man under her protection. When Joe came by an hour later commenting on wasting daylight, the terror of being separated from Rick had lulled into a discomfort that he ignored in favor of earning their keep. 

 

==============

 

Carl pretended to be asleep when his mom leaned over to check on him. He didn’t want to deal with any more of the concern from her or from anyone else. She pressed a kiss to his head and wiggled out of the nest of blankets, sliding towards the fire where most everyone else was still awake. Carl hoped they’d find some house to stay in tomorrow; the ground was frigid even with the fire’s heat nearby.

“I’m worried about him.”

“He probably just needs time to adjust.” Hershel responded evenly. “Things are different than we allowed ourselves to believe. We all come to terms with that in our own way.” 

“He had to put down Shane, his uncle by all rights.” Lori sighed. “He thinks Rick is going to come back. That can’t be healthy, living in denial, not allowing himself to grieve.” 

Carl clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes tight. His mom didn’t know anything. She’d given up on his dad before, said he was dead, but he still came back. He came back after getting shot, came back after Atlanta, came back when he went to get Hershel from town. He always came back. Carl jerked upright, unable to stand it any longer. “He’s alive. He’ll find us!”

Lori, Hershel, Carol and Maggie were gathered around the campfire and they all looked up at his sudden rebuke. Lori shifted closer, reaching out to touch him, but he moved out of the way. “Honey, you saw what happened to him.”

Carl had seen, and he’d heard his dad screaming, too. He couldn’t forget because it played on repeat in his dreams more often than not. But they didn’t know anything for sure. Andrea went down, too, but no one demanded he accept her death. Carl could accept that Shane was dead; he’d been the one to shoot him, but there was no way his dad would go down like that. It was impossible. “I saw the Walkers reach him, and I saw him fall. I didn’t see him get bit.”

No one seemed ready to argue with him, which felt like a hollow victory. He bundled the blankets tighter around himself and turned away to glare at the trees in the distance. After a few minutes, the quiet conversation picked up again, discussing, as they always did, how to get more food. Carl imagined it was probably the only topic anyone could think of with their stomachs angrily reminding them of the dinner they’d missed. 

After everyone offered up their best strategies, none of which were new, the conversation turned back to Carl himself. His stillness must have convinced them that he was asleep this time. “Maybe we should circle back to the farm.” Carol suggested tentatively. “Seeing the body might give Carl closure. And maybe we could find out what happened to Daryl and Andrea. Would certainly love the food that we left behind.”

“If there’s anything left of our people, I don’t think any of us want to see it.” Maggie pointed out bluntly. “And if Randall’s group is still around, we’d be inviting a mess of trouble.” 

 “You’re right. I guess I just have a hard time believing that Daryl would up and leave like that.” Carol’s voice was so quiet, Carl could barely catch it. She sounded like she blamed herself. Carl considered that she’d lost a lot, too. He’d lost his father and Shane, but she’d lost her husband and Daryl, and they’d both lost Sophia. 

“Would it be easier to know he was bit or would it just hurt in a different way?” Lori asked gently. Carl finally drifted off before he heard Carol’s response, but he knew what he thought about that question.

The next day, Carl volunteered to help Carol with cleaning their limited pile of clothes, and when they were working in relative solitude, he tried to pass along some comfort. “My dad and Daryl, they’re gonna come back. You’ll see.”

Carol smiled sadly back at the boy. “People don’t come back anymore. At least, not as the people we knew.”

The words twisted in Carl’s gut in a way he didn’t understand. He wondered if it was his punishment for saying that Heaven was a lie. 

 

=============


	8. In the Family Way

 

“Is there a plan?” Andrea asked during their second day on the road. In addition to a little bit of hero worship for the strong, independent woman, Michonne was always so mysterious and competent that it was easy to forget that she was just as prone to mistakes as anyone else. “Or is it just, South and look for shelter?”

Michonne shrugged, chains in her hand rattling at the movement. “I know what I’m looking for. Something away from people, small town nearby for supplies, well insulated from the cold. We’ve got time before winter really sets in to find it.”

“I’ve been thinking.” Andrea brought up hesitantly. “Fort Benning might not be a bad idea, after all.”

Michonne tossed over one of her looks that Andrea was slowly learning to read. This one said, ‘you turn into an idiot when I wasn’t looking or something?’ She replied, “You said it was overrun.”

“Not exactly. It was a guy from that awful group, Randall’s group? He said they’d run across someone from there who said it had fallen. That’s like three unreliable degrees from actually knowing anything.” Andrea fell silent as a Walker teetered towards them, drawn by her voice. Michonne checked to confirm that it was alone before taking it out so they could keep talking. “Shane might still want to check it out. Either way, if it’s still functional, we could have actual walls and military support.”

“I think that’s a long, long trip for a big if. There’s going to be a lot of people drawn to that spot, which will make it dangerous. There will be more people than food, and less protection or supplies than those people need. And that’s assuming it’s still operational. Trust me, refugee centers are no sanctuary.” Michonne’s tone suggested that the words were spoken from experience and not just her excellent intuition. Andrea wanted to ask, but she held back, knowing that some stories had to come out on their own and that there was nobody left alive who hadn’t lost someone.

They continued on in silence for a while as Andrea considered if it was worth trying to get Michonne to change her mind. Somehow, having a destination in mind felt much more palatable than simply walking in one direction alongside the main road. Occasionally, a Walker would pass by, and sometimes Michonne would kill it, but mostly, she wouldn’t bother, letting it stumble along in its path and leave them be. If they heard a car, they’d move out of sight until it passed, but those were few and far between.

As afternoon closed in on evening, they began to consider good places to spend the night. They could camp out again, but it was beginning to be too chilly for that, and they both preferred some walls to keep them warm. Soon, they came across a small one-story house set in from the road enough to obscure it mostly from view, and started up the gravel driveway. It should be quick to clear and reasonably safe for a brief stay.

“Shut her up, would you?!”

The shout startled them, and they quickly shifted off of the gravel into the trees, looking around to make sure they weren’t spotted, before approaching the origin of the noise cautiously. As they got nearer, the sounds of sobbing grew clear. They crouched behind some bushes to take in the scene playing out on the small home’s front lawn. 

There were four grisled looking men, armed with rifles and pistols and a dangerous air, standing above a small, broken family. One of the ruffians kicked one of the women in her shoulder, toppling her onto the ground beside the fresh corpse of a man. The woman looked to be in her mid-twenties and was pregnant beyond the point where movement was easy. The other woman, barely passed her teens, lunged at the man with a shriek. He caught her by the arms and laughed in her face before dragging her into an unwanted embrace.

Michonne gripped tightly onto Andrea’s upper arm before she was even aware of making any motions, as if sensing that she was ready to charge in there blindly. “We have to help them.” Andrea whispered, voice barely audible to her own ears.

Another man leaned forward and dragged the pregnant woman to her feet. “Y’all were real lucky we ran across this place. Wouldn’t’ve made it on yer own, but we’ll keep ya safe. All you gotta do is keep us fine gents company.” 

“It’s suicide.” Michonne declared, nodding towards what Andrea hadn’t immediately noted. There were three more people standing further away on guard. 

It wasn’t an issue of a challenging fight of two on four, with the element of surprise in their favor and the possibility of help from the two victims. They were significantly outnumbered and clearly outgunned. Andrea’s mind flickered from one idea to the next but came up with nothing that didn’t require more supplies and time than they had. She clenched her fists in anger and frustration as she watched the captives struggle as they were loaded into a truck that sat idling in the driveway. There was no way she could see to get involved that wouldn’t end in disaster. She couldn’t do anything for them. It reminded her of the helplessness she felt sitting above Amy’s body and waiting for it to turn.

The Walkers behind them puttered, clanking together their chains, and starting up a swelling fear in Andrea’s chest that covered the anger. If they were found, they’d be in the same boat as the two other women, assuming they weren’t killed outright. The group on the lawn seemed to take notice, a couple of them commenting on the odd sound. Michonne got to her feet and sliced through the heads of her pack mules without hesitation before crouching back down. 

Luckily, another Walker stumbled towards the group, passing by the silent pair and heading for the noisiness on the grass. Seemingly satisfied by the appearance of the Walker, the men packed themselves up into the truck and drove off. Andrea thought she might throw up.

“Come on.” Michonne said when the truck was out of sight and they’d collected their gear from the corpses on the ground. Andrea had always thought there was something important about those two Walkers to Michonne, but clearly she’d been mistaken since her friend wasn’t reacting to their death in any way. “Let’s get back to the main road. We’ll find a car and put some distance between us and whatever the hell is wrong with this area.”

“To Fort Benning?” 

“Yeah. We can head to Fort Benning. I’m not promising we’ll stay, though.”

Andrea nodded. It was dull comfort in the face of what they’d seen today, but it was still comfort. Maybe Fort Benning would still be there. Maybe there was law and order left somewhere.

==============

 

Consciousness came back to Rick slowly. Distorted, unfamiliar voices trickled in with the somewhat familiar scents he associated with sterile hospital rooms. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed while he was out of it, and it gave him a great sense of deja vu from waking up in a hospital after society had already collapsed. 

“He’s awake!” A voice echoed through his head, bringing into focus the swell of a fierce headache, but he ignored it. That voice had been a child’s, a boy’s. 

“Carl?” He asked desperately, opening his eyes and trying to sit up properly, only to be halted by his wrist’s refusal to cooperate. The movement made him nauseous, and he closed his eyes until it abated some. A firm hand rested on his shoulder, pushing him until he was settled more firmly on the bed.

“Don’t try to move too much.” A feminine voice commanded.

Rick tried to crack his eyes back open. “Lori?” Had they suddenly found their group while he was out of it? The light was nearly unbearable, and it took a few minutes for him to adjust and process what he was seeing. He was in a small room with two large beds, their comforters made of a gaudy, floral design. It was warm, the curtains spread wide to let in the late-afternoon sunlight. A woman and a boy were with him, but they weren’t Lori or Carl, which meant that he hadn’t miraculously found his way back. The boy fetched him a plastic cup of water, and helped him get some of it down despite the awkward angle. They introduced themselves as Judith and Tyler, and he tried to greet them without the disappointment he felt staining his voice. 

“What happened? Where’s Daryl?” 

“I’m a doctor. Your friend brought you here so I could treat your infection. It was touch and go for a while, but now that you’re conscious and alert, I think the rest of the infection should clear your system, provided you rest and let yourself heal.” Judith looked him over warily, like she hadn’t yet established him as friend or foe and was readying herself for a tactical retreat.

Rick nodded, taking in the odd pair. An older woman and a young boy weren’t very likely to have made it this far on their own, but he trusted that Daryl wouldn’t have left him alone with them if he didn’t feel he was safe. “Where’s Daryl?” 

“He’s out hunting with Joe’s group. They usually come in before it gets dark, Daryl especially. He’ll probably be along shortly to check on you.”

Rick wondered who Joe was and if he could be trusted to watch Daryl’s back. He tried to bring his hand to his head but found it rattled and stopped short. He glanced up to see a pair of handcuffs keeping him to the headboard. It was unsettling, but not necessarily bad. Judith may have kept him handcuffed in case he turned. He tried to keep himself calm. “How long was I out? And where are my pants?”

“A week.”

“A week?” Rick repeated in disbelief. He’d lost an entire week? They’d have fallen so far behind the others by this point, he didn’t know where he’d even start looking for them. 

Tyler piped up, then, “Longer, actually. Daryl said you were mostly out of it for days before he got you here.”

“You’re lucky to be alive at all.” The doctor announced cautiously. “And we almost had to take your leg, anyway, because of how severe the infection was.”

Rick goggled at the pair for a moment before sighing in resignation. It wouldn’t do any good to make his saviors believe he was angry with them. “Thank you.” The cop forced out. “I know I wouldn’t have made it without you.” 

Judith nodded, stepping forward and settling into a more confident persona. It was probably the one she’d used before when being intelligent and bossy got things done instead of getting you shot. “That’s true, but don’t rest easy yet. The Living aren’t exactly friendly, if you know what I mean.” 

“The Living?”

“It’s what Harlan calls the group. Something about preserving the human race against future disasters by returning to more primitive ways. Just an excuse to go all cave-man if you ask me.”

“What do you mean?” 

“It’s more about survival of the fittest in here than it is out there with the lamebrains.” 

“If you don’t like them, why don’t you just leave?” Rick’s eyes flickered around the room, looking for his gear. “Pants?”

“You’re either with them or against them, and if you’re against them, you’re dead. Besides, I’m not sure they’d let me leave with my skill set.” Judith snorted. “Just be thankful your friend is reliable or you wouldn’t have lasted long enough to treat.”

The door swung open suddenly, and Daryl was standing there, looking at the bed in surprise. “You’re awake.” The hunter was breathing heavily in a way that wasn’t warranted, but his face collapsed in relief when Rick turned to smile at him.

“Good job finding a doctor in the apocalypse. Best I ever did was a vet.” Daryl took two heavy steps forward, and for a moment, Rick thought he was going to be on the receiving end of a fierce hug, but the archer stopped in front of the bed and seemed to stop paying attention to him entirely. If Daryl leaned in a little closer, Rick was going to give him that hug anyway. 

“Can he walk?” Daryl asked Judith. “Could sneak out now, ‘fore they move him.”  
“I can walk.” Rick contributed, deciding that it would simply have to be true even before he discovered that shifting carefully into a sitting position was nearly too much on its own. He could hear Daryl’s concern loud and clear, even if his tone was level and quiet, and wondered if their position in the camp was as precarious as Judith made it seem. 

“No.” Judith contradicted him immediately. “He isn’t even fully over the infection. Even if he were, he needs weeks to regain full use of that leg. Tyler, go and get the keys to the handcuffs. I think Toby has them.”

“Sure.” The little boy agreed easily, darting from the room. 

“We shouldn’t stay here if it’s that dangerous on my account.” Rick insisted. “I can heal up anywhere.”

“Did we not just go over how lucky you are to be alive? I’m not going to just let you waste all of my hard work by getting yourself killed immediately.”

Rick was going to keep arguing but Tyler returned with a large man who must have been very close by. He internally cursed the window of opportunity slamming shut so quickly. 

“Oi,” The man, presumably Toby, grunted. “Was starting to wonder if your lazy ass was ever gonna wake up.” He unlocked the handcuffs and Rick instinctively pulled his arm to his chest and rubbed the slightly abraded skin. The stranger gave a pointed look at Judith. “He good to walk?” 

“Not if you expect him to recover.”

Toby scowled and left, returning shortly with a food cart that Daryl helped him climb onto. Daryl mostly just lifted him onto the thing, but Rick made enough marginal assistance that it felt a little less pathetic. His leg stung in its awkward position half curled onto the surface, and he wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to just try and walk. He shivered on the cold metal in just his boxers. “Seriously, no one’s going to give me pants?”

“I’d like to see that wound get more air.” Judith finally addressed him with a disappointing negative. “And I doubt you’ll want to work them on and off again every time I come to check on you.”

When he was situated and clutching the sides of the cart, feeling very foolish with himself and the situation, Daryl wheeled him down the hallway, and Rick realized they were in a motel from the several labelled rooms they passed. They stopped at one with 114 embossed on it in gold lettering. 

“Home, sweet home.” Toby smirked, undoing a heavy bolt from the door and swinging it open for them. Daryl didn’t comment as he rolled the cart over the threshold. Rick tried not to flinch at the harsh thump of the door smacking shut behind them.

The room was a mirror image of the one they were in previously, but it didn’t have the clean, antiseptic smell. The mattresses were situated on the floor with not one bit of additional furniture, and the sole window had been boarded up, the only light from the small rays that slipped through the cracks. In other circumstances, he might have thought the place a safe-room, protected from Walkers, but he knew better. This was a prison. 

There were two women with long brown hair seated on one of the double mattresses playing cards, one of whom was heavily pregnant. They looked up cautiously at the sound of a cart being wheeled in. 

“You must be Andy.” The pregnant one cocked her head. “I’m Claire. That’s my sister, Rachel.”

Rick nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond to them, but having several clear questions in mind for Daryl. He waited until they made it into the relative safety of the doorless bathroom before asking in a whisper, “this Randall’s group?”

“This is Randall’s group.” The archer confirmed, leaning in to hide their voices and drawing Rick back to their extended stay at the farm, “them ladies are alright, but didn’t dare use yer name.” 

“So, I’m Andy and you’re Daryl?” Daryl nodded and moved quickly out of his space. Just standing up and taking care of business was exhausting, and Rick didn’t appreciate the indignity of stumbling and being half-carried to the second mattress, especially when he nearly passed out again. He breathed through the pain. He couldn’t believe how bone tired he was after being awake for less than an hour. 

He wasn’t aware of falling asleep. It seemed like one blink to the next left him confused about the sudden change in lighting and absence of his friend. Rick scooted up to his elbows and looked around the room. He couldn’t see Daryl, but the two women were still there. Rachel was lying down with her back turned, presumably asleep, while Claire was sitting against a wall where the largest ray of light reached, knee bent awkwardly to avoid her large belly and provide something to write on. She stopped scribbling and smiled tentatively at Rick. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah.” Rick rubbed over his face and carefully sat up. His leg hurt, and he felt weak and sore all over. He thought he might pass out if he tried to make it to standing, even with the wall for support. “Yeah, I’m up. Where’s Daryl?”

“He’s out hunting.” Claire explained, setting aside her paperwork and awkwardly rolling herself to a kneeling position before standing back up. She stretched out her back. “It’s his job. He’s gotta keep providing meat to pay for your medical care. If he tries to run off or doesn’t make it back by sundown, they’ll kill you. It’s what they say, anyway. He doesn’t talk much.”

 “Right.” Rick acknowledged, trying not to think too hard on the topic of death threats. He’d obviously been successful thus far. Rick was getting pretty sick of relying on Daryl for everything, but the man stepped up every time, seeming to grow to fit the need. He could hardly imagine that volatile redneck from the quarry turning into this dependable, loyal, heroic individual in hardly more than a month. Then again, maybe Daryl had always been that way, and Rick just hadn’t seen it. 

“He’s a good man.” Claire added, probably taking his response as doubt. She collected a tray from across the room and brought it over, setting it beside his bed. There was a cup of water, and a small serving of soup. It was cold, but that didn’t put him off. His stomach growled, and he carefully brought it to his lips to sip at the side of the bowl. “We were so scared when they brought him in. Figured he was one of them, you know? I mean, he looks pretty rough. But he didn’t touch us.” Rick swallowed hard and brought the bowl back to the tray so he wouldn’t lose what he’d gotten down. Of course he’d known that Claire and Rachel were not here in this room with the lock on the outside of their own volition. And he’d guessed they probably weren’t hunting to earn their keep. “Knocked out two of Toby’s teeth when he came to take us. Possibly the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” Claire scuffed her foot along the floor and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Would have kept going, too, ‘cept they said they’d kill you if he ever tried anything like that again. My point is, you don’t need to worry. He’ll come through for you.” 

“He’s one of the good ones.” Rick agreed, drinking some more of his water and finishing up the soup. Seemed like they’d done nothing but threaten to kill him to keep Daryl in line. He felt even more like a burden than before. They wouldn't be in this mess if it weren’t for him. “I’m sorry he couldn’t do more for you. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

Claire shrugged and gave a crooked smile. “I’m sorry about this.” She said as she handed him a plastic bottle. Rick took it in confusion. “I certainly can’t help you up, and Rachel’s not strong enough to get you to the bathroom, either.”

“Oh.” Rick turned it around in his hands a few times. He had been wondering what he was going to do. It didn’t seem likely that he could hold it until Daryl got back. Claire gave him privacy while he relieved himself, though it was still uncomfortably loud in the small room. He set it aside awkwardly and cleared his throat. “She okay?”

“Late night.” Claire shrugged, fidgeting. “She tends to be busier than me.”

Rick cursed internally for dragging it back to the forefront of their minds. He felt so impotent, weak and sick, relying on others to take care of him, watching injustice around him and unable to change it. No one could afford to be looking after him like this, yet Daryl had chosen to stay behind and care for Rick twice now when he would be better off without him. He vowed that he was going to recover and protect Daryl, no matter what.

Rick looked over at the young woman who was rubbing her bulging stomach absently while they talked. “We’re going to get out of here, Daryl and I, we’re going to leave as soon as I can walk. We can take you with us, you, and your sister, and your baby. We can keep you safe.”

“Not sure safe is a thing anymore.” Claire confessed. “But I’d rather take my chances out there with you. Count us in.”

The bolt on the door slid open with a heavy metal thunk, alerting them to guests before the door even opened. Rachel jerked up in her bed, scooting herself into a corner and folding up like she could make herself disappear. Rick’s heart clenched at the sight, wondering if she’d been awake listening the whole time or if that was simply a conditioned response. Claire stood like a guard dog over the bed, but relaxed when it was only Judith and Tyler who entered, the door closing behind them. 

“Glad to see you’re awake, Andy.” The doctor said, nodding to the women before crouching in front of Rick’s bed. She tossed the blanket off of his lap without waiting for permission and instructed Tyler to empty the bottle beside the bed without a second glance. Rick flushed a little in nothing but boxers and a T-shirt, but the old woman was nothing if not professional. She prodded him enough to make him hiss, but wasn’t aggressive in her touch. She felt his forehead with the back of her hand and asked him a few perfunctory questions on his sleep and hunger and aches, before standing back up. “About as expected. We should see a lot of improvement in the next few days now that you’re able to eat again. Don’t push to try and stand or walk yet, but keep wiggling and pumping your feet so you don’t lose muscle mass or get bed sores. Soup only for a few days.”

Rick nodded along at the instructions, dismayed that even standing was off the menu for the time being. It really was going to take him weeks to recover, and as dangerous as The Living were, they had a doctor and some decent protection set up. He needed to heal at least enough to walk properly, preferably to run because their lives weren’t much else these days, or he wasn’t going to be able to protect Daryl. He was just going to keep being a burden. As much as it hurt, he mentally shifted “find family” off of his number one importance slot. He needed to start thinking more logically and play the long game. He couldn’t sacrifice his health to move faster on a mission that might well take months.

Next, Judith looked over Claire, Tyler hovering with a bag of her gear while she checked over her vitals, before turning her attention to the baby. She asked a few questions and seemed satisfied that everything was as well as could be expected given the circumstances. “About a month, I’d say. Got any names picked out?”

Claire shrugged and looked away. “Danny and I did, but…”

There was a somber understanding, and Judith rubbed her shoulder gently before moving on to her sister, crouching again despite the way her knees creaked at the action. She held out a packet that Rachel cautiously took. “Best I could do. Anything you want me to take a look at?” The mousey girl shook her head quickly, and Judith frowned a little. “Can do it in private.” When she was again met with refusal, the doctor stood.

“I like the name Isaac.” Tyler announced to the room at large. “Or Lily for a girl.”

“I’ll keep them in mind.” Claire patted Tyler on the head. Rick’s heart ached for his own son, a little older than the boy trapped here with them, while he watched the familiar, doting gesture. Judith knocked on the door to be let out, Tyler following with a little wave to everyone in the room.

Rick tried desperately not to watch Rachel for fear of making her uncomfortable, but the woman was trauma incarnate. There was no question why Daryl had had such a violent reaction to watching them being carted off, knowing what lay in store for them. The only real question was how he’d managed to stop himself from doing it every day since. Rick felt queasy knowing he would have to do the same, and levered himself back to a laying position. It didn’t help with the nausea in the slightest. 

He drifted off again, only to awaken when the door opened a second time. It was still light out, light enough that the room was clear despite the boarded up window. Rick inched himself up until he was on his elbows and then sitting somewhat properly. Daryl entered the room this time, carrying a bowl of soup, another man with floppy gray hair following right behind him. The door was left wide open, but even if Rick could run, he doubted it was unguarded. 

“Was starting to believe we were wasting medicine on a dead man, Anthony.” The gray haired man said in greeting. 

“It’s Andy.” Rick corrected immediately, doubting the slip-up was anything but intentional, and taking the bowl from Daryl. He’d eaten earlier but was ravenous again and slurped down nearly half of it before anyone else could speak. Daryl shifted, leaning against the wall beside them with a calculated casualness. 

“Right, right. I’m Joe.” The man extended a hand like it was still common behavior, and Rick set aside his bowl to take it because there was no sense in pissing this guy off. “I understand you’re probably still gettin’ up to speed, so let me fill you in some. There’s four groups workin’ together to make this place work, and we call ourselves The Living, mostly cuz we ain’t the dead.” Joe let out a sardonic huff. Rick wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a joke or self-reflective, but it managed to carry a ring of threat with it instead. If you’re not with this group, you’re dead, as Judith said. “Daryl works with me, and you will too, if you can hunt.”

“I can hunt.” Rick declared immediately despite virtually no experience. There was no way he was going to get placed in a different group. Or worse. They wouldn’t ask him to do it, anyway, with his leg how it was, so it was all semantics at this point. He hoped. 

“Oh, I know. Daryl told me.” Joe chuckled, glancing at Daryl with a half-smile that was disconcerting. Daryl’s face was carefully blank. “Now, I don’t make things complicated. Don’t lie, don’t steal, and we ain’t gonna have a problem. That’s it. Simple, right?”

 Shit. Two sentences in and already two lies. He just needed to steal something before Joe left the room and he’d have a trifecta. “Makes sense.” Rick replied confidently despite the way his heart rate picked up. Not one word out of Joe’s mouth had been an accident, leaving just enough slack in the line to hang himself with. He’d been quizzing Rick to see if Daryl had been honest with him, and Rick was going to have to be a hell of a lot more careful if he didn’t want to get them both killed. 

Joe nodded, keeping up eye contact with him even as he reached out a hand toward Daryl, who pulled his sheathed knife from his belt and placed it on the open palm. Rick then realized that Daryl’s crossbow was already over Joe’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed that before. “Well, I wish you a speedy recovery.” He announced before nodding to Daryl and leaving the room, ignoring the other two captives entirely. 

The door shut, the bolt loudly announcing that it was locked, and Daryl slid down the wall until he was seated on the ground. “Jesus.”

“Yeah.” Rick nodded, waiting for his heart to stop racing. He glanced over at Claire, who was sympathetic in her gaze, and Rachel, who was finally looking at him, before turning back to Daryl. He could speak freely. “I just nearly killed us.”

“Coulda been worse. Coulda said ya weren’t a hunter.”

Rick frowned. There was no way that man would not follow through on some sort of cross-examination, and there was a decent chance Rick might not even see it coming. “Well, sooner or later, he’s going to figure out that I’m not actually a hunter.”

“Whaddya want from me?” The archer bit back. “Was just tryin’ to keep ya alive.”

“Sorry.” Rick rubbed over the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”

Rick went back to sipping at his soup while Daryl filled him in on what he’d already said so they could keep their stories straight. It wasn’t far from the truth, really. Daryl had only fudged the things that were distinctly problematic, like their group still being out there without them. He listened intently before setting aside his bowl. Rick hadn’t seen anyone else eating and he hoped like hell that they were just doing it when he was asleep, and that it wasn’t just him getting fed. He was a little afraid to ask. 

“You could teach him.” An unfamiliar voice spoke quietly, carrying only because of the lull in conversation. “You could teach Andy to hunt. You could teach all of us.”

Daryl frowned at the woman who’d been thus far silent. “Can’t take him out with me, even if he wasn’t laid up.”

“You could do it in here.” Rachel suggested.

Claire gave her a funny look. “Look, I’m all for something more interesting than Go Fish, but how the hell is Daryl going to do that in here?”

“It’s possible.” Rachel insisted, swiveling around on their mattress before producing the notebook Claire was using before, flipping it open and holding up a drawing, ignoring her sister as she protested. It was a landscape drawing of a cliff overhanging a large, wooded lake, done in practiced, confident pencil strokes. At the side of the picture, a man stood facing away, crossbow strapped across his back, and more than a passing resemblance to Daryl. Rick noted, as was surely the intent, that Claire had significant artistic ability. “He can explain, and Claire can make visual aids.”

“Like a sketch artist.” Rick said contemplatively. “But with paw prints and tree leaves.”

“It’s… a whole lot more complicated than just knowin’ what print yer lookin’ at.” Daryl said slowly, like he didn’t want to be the one to burst the bubble of hope in the room. Or, more likely, that he was restraining himself from calling them all idiots.

“I know. I know. But you can explain it. Demonstrate. Bring back something if you can. We can make lists and study them. Quiz each other when you’re gone.” Rick looked at Rachel and could see that she needed this. She needed something in her life that was vaguely positive and useful. 

“It won’t be the same. We know that.” Rick agreed, bridging his way to a compromise. “But it’s better than nothing.” Better a halfwit than a complete dunce when Joe came around to test him.

Daryl looked at him in surprise, like he’d expected Rick to understand best of all the futility of this attempt, but he must have seen that Rick was serious. He shrugged. “All right. We’ll start tomorrow.”

Amid quiet cheers, Daryl crawled under the blanket and pressed his back right up to Rick’s side, even though the mattress was large enough to leave space between them. It was chilly at night lately, even inside a building. He might just be cold from spending so much time outside. Rick was certain that’s what Daryl would pass it off as if pressed, but Rick was just as certain that the hunter liked knowing Rick was alive and they had each other. Rick knew he drew far more comfort than warmth from the light touch between them.

 

=============

 

 Consensus, Glenn found out quickly, was one of those things that sounded great in theory but was a nightmare to implement. Either no one had any opinions or everyone had a differing opinion, and even when everyone grudgingly agreed on the next course of action, almost no one was happy about it. It was because of this frustrating mode of operation that it took them two weeks to settle on a large farmhouse just outside of a blink-and-you-miss-it town for their next semi-permanent shelter.

The farmhouse had a lot in common with the Greene home, which probably factored into the debate in a more negative way than anyone was willing to openly admit to, but it had a lot of defensive points in its favor that eventually won out. There weren’t the high walls or fences that they were hoping for, but there was a clear line of sight all around the building, tilled farmland gone unplanted on one side and grazing land on two of the others. 

Everyone agreed to the twenty-four hour guard on the roof, though there was a lot of discussion about who should be involved and how long shifts should be and so on. Should Maggie and Glenn have a shift when they were the ones most regularly making runs to look for supplies? Should Carl take a turn on his own or with someone else? Could they afford to have those with little gun experience having their own shifts? The discussions continued on long after it was practical. More and more, Glenn found himself relying on T-Dog and Maggie to keep things running while everything else grinded to a halt while everybody talked it out. It was driving them all nuts.

“Son, we need you to step up in a big way.” Hershel stated solemnly when he joined him on watch for no other reason than to talk. Glenn revelled in his care, attention and advice, but he was also wary of the familiar footsteps of the old man because of how much fell on his shoulders these days. Today, it seemed the request would be a doozy. “We don’t have the luxury of time or energy to spend our evenings arguing any longer.”

Glenn sighed. “I’m doing my best.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re not.” Hershel contradicted, and Glenn swiveled to actually look at him, hurt by the accusation. “You need to learn to lead without fear of making the wrong choice or offending people. You need to be able to make the hard decisions for the good of the group.”

“Why me? If you know what needs to happen, why don’t you lead?” Glenn knew he was whining, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t sign up for this.

“I don’t claim to know everything, but I do know what makes a good leader.” Hershel declared, resting a reassuring hand on Glenn’s shoulder. “People will follow the one who leads the charge, the one who believes in the plan, and cares enough about his people to assign himself the most dangerous mission. I think you’ve proven plenty of times that that’s you.”

Glenn was caught between preening at the praise and cowering at the responsibility. “But what if I do it wrong, make the wrong call? People could die. People I care about could die.”

“Refusing to act is a decision on its own. We’re all slowly starving right now. Lori will lose that baby within weeks if this keeps up.” 

Glenn couldn’t help the way his mind flickered over the possibility with a hint of hope. That baby would cost them extra food, and put them in a huge amount of danger. If it died, they’d all be better off for it. He immediately felt ashamed of himself for wanting to see a baby dead rather than be burdened by it. No, he was going to do everything he could to keep them all alive, including the bump that had just begun to show on Lori, even if they hated him for it.

Hershel patted his shoulder, like he’d known everything that had gone on in Glenn’s head as clearly as if he’d said it aloud. “I knew you’d come to the right conclusion.”

Glenn spent the rest of his shift outlining ideas in his head over and over again, until he knew what he wanted to see happen. He shared them with Maggie to check that they were reasonable before announcing them to the group. They needed to start training with weapons, all of them. They needed to be systematic in clearing houses, stores, and even towns. They needed a policy on what to do with strangers. They needed to watch out for herds and keep themselves moving. 

This was no longer a democracy.

 

================

  
  


It took Rick six weeks to recover enough to properly pace the length of the motel room with only minimal pain, and he was making full use of that ability now. The infection had long since passed, with him impressively no worse the wear for nearly dying. He suspected he could probably manage a decent run, if ever he had the opportunity. There was no real way to test that out since he’d yet to leave this make-shift jail cell since arriving. He paused by the wooden planks covering the window and peeked through a crack to examine the small bit of parking lot that was visible, like something interesting might show up right then and there, before continuing in his pacing. 

He’d have to sit back down if someone came in. Judith was keeping the extent of his recovery on the down-low, so that he would have more time. Rick was simultaneously grateful and frustrated. He knew that the extended rest had done him a world of good, and that going out hunting could reveal his lie, but he was also being driven mad cooped up inside the room with the same dim lighting, the same stuffy smells, and the daily torture of watching two kind, young women being dragged off to be raped. Sometimes, he thought he could hear them in nearby rooms, but it could have just been his mind playing tricks. It turned his stomach into knots and made it hard to keep down the tiny portions of stew they provided him with for lunch and dinner every day.

Rick picked up his pace, growing angrier at his inability to do anything productive or helpful. He couldn’t do anything to help Claire and Rachel. He couldn’t share Daryl’s burdens, or break them out of here. And if and when they did get out, he knew there was an increasing possibility that they would never find his family. Rick’s leg started to buckle, and he sat down on the mattress, rubbing at the soreness. The more he thought about it, the angrier he grew. Daryl should have left him behind. He should have stayed with the group and protected Rick’s family. It would have been so much easier dealing with being separated from them if he knew that Daryl was looking after them, keeping them fed, helping them survive. If not the first time, he should have left Rick behind the second time, when he was on the brink of dying from that infection. He could have escaped if he hadn’t gone back for Rick, and by this time, he could be back with their people keeping them safe instead of wasting his time hunting to provide for a group of morally bankrupt people that hardly gave them back enough to survive.

And Rick would be dead. 

He tugged at his hair in frustration. They were going to die right here if they didn’t do anything to change course. The winter had already set in, snow coming in short spurts here and again, and the room too chilly to sleep properly without pressing tightly into each other beneath the blanket. Before he could move around properly on his own, he spent the mornings shivering and bored, contemplating if there was any harm in asking to share body heat with Claire and Rachel. Ultimately, the answer was always, yes because trauma, and he’d work on the muscle retention exercises Judith suggested for him or read the book Daryl left. When the hunter had initially gave him  _ The Quick and the Dead _ , Rick thought it was a bad joke, but apparently, he had possession of the only book in camp. Rachel and Claire fought over it incessantly during their breaks. Now that he could move around fully, the most pressing concern for survival was the dwindling food supplies. There wasn’t much to hunt these days, and the sheer number of people in camp were burning through their canned goods faster than they could possibly replenish them. They needed to move on before things got any worse here.

By the time Daryl came in, shortly before dusk with two bowls of soup, Rick had worked himself into something of a fury. “I don’t understand what we’re still doing here.” Rick complained the minute the door was closed. 

Daryl slipped some slices of slightly burnt meat and a handful of nuts from under his vest, and split the smuggled food into fourths for when the women returned for dinner. It was a common occurrence, though not daily, that was probably half the reason Rick was well enough to be angry right now. “You’re healin’.”

“I’m healed.” Rick countered. “You know I’m doing okay. We could head out any time. Next time it’s just one of them that brings you in, you just turn your bow on them instead of turning it over, and we all run out the back.”

Daryl ate his soup while Rick talked, quirking an eyebrow when he was finished. “An’ leave Tyler an’ the doc?” 

“We’ll get them on the way out.”

“Ain’t so easy as ya make it sound.” 

“Then what’s the plan?” Daryl shrugged in response, which just irritated Rick further. How was he supposed to make any sort of plan when all he’d seen of the place was one hallway? Daryl would have to do it, or at least supply him with a hell of a lot more information to work with. “You’ve been out there for weeks, and you don’t have an escape planned? Do you want to stay here? Like the attention Joe gives you or something? You know he wants to fuck you, right?”

“He don’t.” Daryl immediately contradicted. Rick waited a few minutes for Daryl to fidget and shrug again, like he wasn’t entirely sure what Joe wanted from him, despite his insistence. “Think he just wants what you do.”

Rick bit his tongue before he could spit out the first words that popped into his head. ‘So, he wants to fuck you.’ He had no idea where that thought had come from. He didn’t think about Daryl that way. They’d been sharing a bed for weeks now, spooning to keep warm most nights and, even with the occasional morning wood, he hadn’t thought about having sex with Daryl before now. He shook his head. “And what’s that?”

Daryl glared at him. “Someone who’s got yer back even when yer bein’ a prick.” The hunter shuffled away from him and crawled into the bed, not bothering to discard his shoes. He looked exhausted, tired to the point of nearly burning himself out. Rick felt guilty for pushing him when he was already working so hard to try and keep him safe. Of all people, Daryl didn’t deserve his anger. Rick knew that getting out of there was not going to be easy, particularly with a pregnant lady and a child. They’d have to be in the same place, bypass a deadbolt, take out a guard, sneak past the vast majority of the group that was housed in the motel, and gain enough distance that the trackers wouldn’t be immediately upon them. Assuming they could outpace them, they’d only have to survive on their own in the middle of winter with no weapons and no shelter and herds of Walkers stumbling around. 

Rick sighed and tugged on the blanket until it came out from beneath his friend, who grunted but didn’t move, and threw it on top of him. He turned back to his dinner, disappointed that in addition to getting into an argument, he’d be missing the best part of his day. Hunting lessons were really the only thing he could look forward to in this prison, but he didn’t begrudge Daryl for wanting the extra sleep, or even to just avoid him for a while.

Claire and Rachel returned shortly after, a little later than normal. Claire explained that she’d stopped by to check in with Judith about some pains, and asked after Daryl. “Just tired.” Rick told them.

“He works so hard.” Claire nodded along. “Don’t know how he even has the energy to teach us anything.” 

Rick nodded and took the opportunity to apologize to Daryl since he was undoubtedly still awake, but wouldn’t be able to protest. “He’s a better friend than I deserve.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Claire smiled. 

“Can we practice anyway?” suggested Rachel. She’d already collected up the sketch pad and was determined to use the last of the daylight to occupy her mind with something useful. They reviewed tree names and leaf shapes and types of tracks and droppings, but those were familiar to them by now to the point of being too easy. Daryl had covered them in the first lessons, along with a slew of poisonous and edible plants, and moved quickly on to explaining the sort of things they should be looking for and how to add several signs together to get a better picture, and even whistling signals that he and Merle used to keep track of each other in the woods. He gave lengthy explanations about proper technique to gut and skin an animal and how and why it varied from creature to creature. As Rick healed more, Daryl started to teach less theoretically. He sneaked in some sticks and twine and showed them how to make traps, which was more fun than it had any right to be. He showed them how to move stealthily, and even used a blanket to try and generate a topical map to demonstrate his techniques on a scaled model. It wasn’t really successful.

Rick wasn’t sure he could fool anyone about his experience or skill in the woods, but he did feel like he could probably use those tools to fumble his way through. He knew he was an excellent shot, so he’d only need a few opportunities and a little luck to bring back some meat. If Daryl ever let him take his place. 

It wasn’t much more than an hour before the door was reopened and the women were escorted out again. They were usually gone the whole night, only returning after Daryl left for the day. Rick tried not to think about it, but all the anger that he’d managed to push down while practicing cropped right back up like it’d never left. He’d misdirected that anger at Daryl, but it wasn’t any less valid. 

Rick slid under the blanket and tried to sleep. Daryl was in a surprisingly deep sleep, probably due to his ongoing exhaustion, and didn’t react even when Rick kept shifting and turning in an effort to get comfortable. He was ready to pounce and make something happen, and his body was too wired to rest. He didn’t know what to do with all that extra energy making him jittery and feeling too tense to relax for sleep, so he decided to go with the tried and true. 

He settled on his side facing away from Daryl and slipped his hand into his waistband, coaxing up an erection with just a few strokes. It hurt too much to think of Lori, either past encounters tainted by arguments and Shane or the possibility of a future one so painfully distant, so he searched his mind for something else to substitute in for the time being. His mind instantly edged away from images of Claire or Rachel, both very attractive with soft features and wide eyes, before he could wilt at thoughts of where they were now. He figured he’d just settle on a generic image, concentrating on the curves of her smooth body than recollecting a particular face because that felt wrong, too, when just about everyone was dead.

Rick worked his hand up and down at a slow and steady pace, careful to keep his breathing low and praying that Daryl would not wake up. He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping man to make sure, and his brain decided to supply helpful images of a different sort. Daryl’s tan skin and muscular arms drifted through his mind unbidden, followed quickly by glimpses of his bare, firm chest. 

Rick tried to pull back from the scenes and go back to the nameless, faceless woman, but his southern brain was far more interested in seeing more of the Daryl’s skin. His mind flashed back to the day they escaped from Hershel’s farmhouse, and how the hunter had jumped straight out of the shower, naked and dripping wet, to pin Rick against the wall. Instead of a knife near his neck, he just saw Daryl’s eyes darkened with lust. 

Rick came before he had time to process that this was definitely not what he wanted to be thinking about while masturbating. He wiped himself off on a bit of toilet paper that he stuffed beneath the mattress to take care of later, more than a little disturbed by what had happened and glanced over at Daryl again, like the other man might somehow know that he’d had inappropriate thoughts regarding him. He was, thankfully, still asleep, so exhausted these days that he hardly twitched in the night.

Tipping onto his back, Rick threw his arm over his face. That didn’t mean anything, though. Everyone thought about weird shit when they masturbated. It didn’t mean they were actually into it. He didn’t want Daryl that way, it was just that Daryl was there. 

 

=============


	9. Guilt

Crossbow loaded and in hand, Daryl trailed a few feet behind Lou, contemplating shooting him in the back of the head. Even this close to the motel, it was still thickly wooded enough that no one would see him do it. By the time they even noticed that Lou was missing, he could collect Rick and the other captives and have a lead on any pursuers by half an hour or more. 

When they’d first been taken in by The Living, the opportunity would never have presented itself. Joe or one of his hunters personally trailed him everywhere to make sure he stayed on task, wasn’t a danger to them, and wouldn’t abandon Rick for greener pastures. He also figured they were testing to see if his hunting skills were worth the effort to keep him around. 

Even with the early restrictions and close guard, Daryl had his bow and his knife and an exit strategy. He didn’t consider himself a planner, but looking for a way out was second nature to him. He memorized the guard schedule and rotations everywhere in camp, but particularly around their room. He familiarized himself with the layout of the motel, the surrounding buildings, and every inch of the woodland beyond for miles. He knew where their weapons and gear were stored, and where they kept all the vehicles, including his brother’s motorcycle, which was only a viable option in a couple of the scenarios he’d come up with. But none of it was useful while he needed The Living to keep Rick alive. 

Six weeks of good behavior had seriously revised local opinion of him, though, and the escort back to the motel was largely a formality at this point. Daryl figured it was nothing more than a holdover from the original agreement that he not have free movement around the camp since he was not usually tailed or monitored outside of it. Lou and several others walked ahead of him without a second thought, though Len and Dan, the first of Joe’s hunters he’d met, still walked behind him. Joe was the only one who felt inclined to walk at his side or talk to him. This probably had something to do with the fact that Joe was the only one Daryl bothered to respond to most of the time.

The gutting and the skinning took place in a separate building set a few blocks away from the motel and was actually completed by a trio from Harlan’s group. If they were running behind, Daryl might be asked to stay and help, but his duties were generally limited to hunting, like all of Joe’s group. He knew that Joe’s people would also get pulled to clear supplies from nearby buildings on occasion, but he had no idea what the rhyme or reason was for their participation since he’d never been asked to join them.

Lou and Daryl made their way towards the prep building in silence. There were no Walkers nearby, nor any guards. Daryl could shoot Lou here, too, and get away before anyone knew what was happening. With Rick mostly healed, the option looked increasingly feasible. The timing was good, too, because it was approximately the same time that Claire and Rachel returned for dinner, and he knew that Rick wasn’t going to leave without the sisters. Honestly, Daryl wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave them to their fate. He could shoot Lou right now in the back of his head, exposed and vulnerable, and return to their cell armed and alone. He’d have to kill Toby as well, who was usually in charge of bringing the girls back and stood guard during their evening meal, but he wouldn’t have any reason to suspect an attack, either.

In the kitchen, Daryl dropped off his string of squirrels and the few small mammals he had to show for the day’s work, leaning against the doorframe while Lou unloaded and chatted with the skinners. 

Lou didn’t have much to show for his time, which was fair because the chill had sent most critters into hiding, but it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him and most of the hunters. The only ones who ever caught near as much as Daryl were Len and Joe. The way he figured, the three of them were likely the only ones with significant hunting experience before the outbreak, and the rest were amateurs, which gave him hope that Rick’s lack of training would not pose a major problem and also helped explain Joe’s quick investment in Daryl. It was possible, likely even, that Daryl had helped turn around a particularly problematic food situation for them. He wasn’t sure what they would do if they ever ran out. He planned to be gone before that could happen.

When Lou finally wrapped it up, he passed by Daryl with barely a glance and headed back towards the motel, unconcerned that Daryl’s bow was still out and armed. There was, after all, the occasional Walker to keep an eye out for. Lou could be on the ground before he had any clue what was going on. There were plenty of buildings to stash the body. Buildings that no one would search before Daryl was already long gone. Hell, if he did it right then, he might not even have to kill Lou, he’d just have to get the jump on him and tie him up some place where no one would hear muffled shouting. There were options around here for that. Maybe. Of course, if he blew it, and Lou alerted anyone else to his betrayal, he’d never have a good opportunity again.

Regardless of how he took care of Lou, Daryl would still have to kill Toby. He couldn’t risk the man making noise or giving a struggle in the hallway where the entire group roomed. But Toby was an awful man who enjoyed watching the terror on Claire and Rachel’s faces as they were dragged from their cell. He got off on it, and Daryl had no doubt that he was one of the participants in some of their nightly activities. It had driven him to attack the man with more viciousness than common sense within minutes of meeting him.

No matter what Rick had accused him of when he was angry, Daryl did not harbor any doubts about the quality of company they were in and his desire to leave it. Even within the confines of their own camp, it was clear that these were deplorable people who would not hesitate to betray their own for personal gain. The story that Randall had told in the barn, the story that had disgusted him enough to accept a role as an executioner, that was just one of many tossed around camp with glee and nostalgia. 

It was hard to tell how much was accurate and true in any one story when nearly everyone was trying their hardest to one-up the rest with the gruesomeness of their so-called conquests. But if even some of these stories were half as awful as they claimed, Daryl would gladly see every single one of The Living turn into the dead. He was among rapists, murderers, pedophiles, torturers and sadists, and it made him sick how easily they accepted him as one of their own. 

Inside the motel, one of the rooms closest to the entrance had been retrofitted into a storage space. Lou took Daryl’s crossbow and knife from him and stowed them among the weapons. Daryl could spot Rick’s python among them on the shelf above where Lou was putting things away, his back still turned to Daryl. It would be so easy to slip his arm around the man’s neck and clench down until he ran out of breath. He could tie and gag him in a closet nearby or even just leave him to turn on the floor of that room. They could be long gone before the next person came to use the room and found a nasty surprise. Lou turned and left and Daryl followed him out.

‘Pussy.’ An unmistakable voice echoed inside Daryl’s head, both encouraging and condescending in a way that only Merle could pull off properly. ‘Man up already and take care of the problem. Ain’t like that jackass wouldn’t do the same to you in a heartbeat.’ 

Daryl scowled. Rick was still healing, no matter what he said, and it was stupid to try and make a run for it when the man literally could not run. They ought to be smart. Bide their time in the relative safety of their environment and go when they could take Judith and Tyler as well.

‘Real safe environment.’ Merle chimed in again. ‘I’m sure them girls would agree. Must feel real protected with you cowerin’ under yer blankets pretendin’ to be asleep when they get taken.’

One deep breath later, Daryl forced himself to keep moving, but he had to concede imaginary-Merle’s point. None of them were safe and any illusions of safety were, at best, short term. Rick might be willing to consider leaving Judith and Tyler given the protection the doctor’s training provided, but Daryl considered them more or less essential to the plan because Claire’s pregnancy would likely necessitate a doctor at some point. And because unlike Rick, he had a much better idea of the sort of people they were with, and he didn’t believe any of them would be safe with that group long term, medical training or no.

Lou accompanied him to the cafeteria for some food but left Daryl alone before they even reached Toby. He may not have his weapons with him, but Daryl could still kill the man, he was sure. He’d even been left with his belt, which was basically a weapon in his book. All he had to do was sneak around the corner, get the jump on their guard, and they’d be home free. The doctor’s room wasn’t being guarded at all right then, like providence was sending him a message to get his ass in gear. 

Seeing Dan arguing with Toby as he rounded the corner was almost a relief because it took the decision out of his hands. He walked steadily toward the pair and was unsurprised to find that Dan was trying to weasel his way in to see Rachel, or preferably, have her out to see him. The shit-stain was well-known for trying to fuck anything with a pulse, particularly if they weren’t on board, but had a predeliction for kids. Rachel was young enough that she might qualify in his book.

“Can’t do that.” Toby folded his arms across his chest. “You ain’t allowed.” 

“Fine, how’s ‘bout the guy then? Ain’t right that he just gets to laze about all day while the rest of us are working. Why don’t you bring him out so’s he can earn his keep? A pair of cocksucking lips like that shouldn’t be reserved just for Daryl.”

Daryl clenched his hands tightly around the tray, rage blazing up from inside of him. Was Rick being used as well and simply hadn’t told him? Rick was something of a pretty boy, he should have considered the possibility sooner. Daryl was going to murder Dan and then he was going to murder Toby and take Rick the hell away from this place. It didn’t matter that both of them were still armed and would see him coming. It didn’t matter that the commotion would undoubtedly bring more people. Daryl was done with this place. 

“He’s not to be touched.” Toby said. “Joe’s orders.”

Daryl took a few deep breaths to calm himself down at that proclamation. The urge to kill Dan hadn’t dissipated, but it was easier to remember why it would be too dangerous to do so here and now. He needed to be smart, and he needed to get a move on. No more dallying. He’d do it the next day. Of course, he’d been telling himself that for nearly two weeks but hadn’t made the attempt yet. Rick’s anger with him a few days ago about delaying their escape was entirely warranted, but he just... couldn’t.

Daryl was fairly sure he conveyed his plans to slit Dan’s throat in his sleep pretty clearly with just a look as they passed each other in the hallway if the man’s quickened pace was anything to go by. Toby nodded to him before unlocking the bolt and letting him inside. For once, Daryl was grateful for the guard’s presence and even nodded at him.

Rick was the only one inside the room and looked to have freshly sat down when he heard the door. He didn’t look overly alarmed, so Daryl figured he hadn’t overheard the conversation in the hallway. Either that, or it was something he’d heard often enough to no longer bother him. Daryl grit his teeth and sat down on their mattress. 

“You look pissed.” Rick commented as he took his portion. 

Daryl grunted. “Where are the girls?”

“Back to see the doctor, I think.” 

“Again?”

“She’s officially overdue, if the calculations are correct. They’re talking about inducing labor, or even a C-Section.”

“Shit.” Either of those options sucked. It would take time for Claire to heal enough to walk, and now they were going to have a baby to contend with, and babies were loud. Absolutely everything was going to be harder now. He’d really shot them in the foot by delaying so long. Rick didn’t lay on the condemnations as was appropriate, though, just sighed and leaned in to brush against Daryl’s side. 

“I was thinking. They still haven’t picked out a name. If it’s a boy, I’m going to suggest Carl.”

Daryl squinted at Rick. Since when did he look so defeated? Daryl was used to Merle coming and going into his life, but Rick’s prolonged separation from his family must be agony. This latest hurdle had to be disheartening. “That’s gonna be hella confusing when we find yer son.”

Rick snorted, then chuckled, then let out a deep belly laugh before flopping back onto the mattress. Daryl let himself smile. It had been a while since he’d seen happiness like that. “Yeah. I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

 

===========

 

At first, Carol was just waiting for the boot to drop. She kept her head down, trying to be as quiet as a mouse. She never complained about anything, only venturing an opinion if it was to back someone else up. Surely, it was just a matter of time before they realized that she wasn’t just useless, but she was a liability to the group. The only question was why they’d yet to put that together. Ed had seen it. Ed had known she was weak and useless and a burden from nearly the day they met. Yet somehow, everyone else seemed to miss what was staring them in their faces. 

It was her fault Sophia was dead. Daryl had spelled that out clearly for her when they were still on the farm in a fit of unbridled honesty. Carol had taken the verbal assault because it was no worse than what circulated in her own mind. She deserved the condemnation for losing the only thing in her life that had been genuinely good through her own ineptitude. 

Carol could understand no one mentioning her daughter. It was a loss wrapped up in a punishment all on its own. What didn’t make any sense was why no one protested keeping her around after what had happened when they left the farm. It was her fault that Andrea was dead, going down after trying to drag her out of danger. And Rick fell shortly after to the exact same fate. Carol was the direct cause of both of their deaths, and she couldn’t fathom how anyone could stand to keep her around when she could barely stand to remain in her own skin.

From time to time, Carol’s gaze would slip over to Lori, emaciation emphasizing what would otherwise be a very small and slowly forming baby bump. Lori lost her husband because of Carol and her best chance at survival. They would all be better off if it was Rick sitting there with them at the campfire and not Carol. He was intelligent, capable, a planner. He was a crack-shot. He was a force to be reckoned with. They wouldn’t be slowly starving to death with Rick. They probably would also be much better off if it was Andrea instead of Carol. Andrea had concentrated her efforts on learning to shoot and become pretty skilled over a short period of time. She had taken ownership over her fate and wouldn’t go down easily. She’d be able to protect the group in a way that Carol just didn’t know how to do.

And then there was Daryl. Was it wrong that she missed him more than her husband? Daryl could be cruel, callous, thoughtless and dangerous, but he had a good heart. He’d thrown himself headfirst into finding her daughter while Carol had puttered around camp and been able to do little more than worry. For a few brief days, Carol had entertained the idea that maybe, just maybe, Sophia wasn’t dead, Daryl would find her, and they’d be a family. They’d be the sort of family she’d always dreamt of in her childhood that cherished each other. The sort that even when they argued and railed and hurt, they’d still have that slightly nauseated look Daryl had given her when she flinched in expectation of physical violence. 

But Sophia was gone, and now Daryl was gone, and it didn’t really matter if he was dead, or they’d left him behind, or he’d left them behind. All of those options amounted to the same thing. She was never going to see Daryl again, and whatever contributions a hunter might have made to keeping them alive were no longer available. So, she packed up all of those feelings, bundled them into a chest and locked it away. 

Carol stood at the precipice, convinced she shouldn’t be with the group, for a long time. Leaving was suicide, but suicide had been more of an enticing option than a threat since the day Sophia emerged from the barn. Staying was easier, but not if anyone else suffered on her account. She couldn’t bear the thought of one more death on her conscience. 

It was because of that guilt that Carol didn’t even think when she saw the Walker closing in on Lori from behind. Carl was holding back his mom’s hair as she vomited and everyone else was busy inside clearing out the building. Carol yanked her hunting knife from its sheath on her belt and leapt in, stabbing the Walker straight in its head without one thought to it being her first kill. Carl gazed at her with wide eyes, while Lori turned, absently wiping at her mouth and thanked her. Carol nodded, staring down at her knife.

It had been a present from Daryl who’d been disturbed to find that she was walking around camp completely unarmed. He’d shuffled into her space and awkwardly held out the long blade, handle first. “Here.”

Carol accepted it, but wasn’t sure what to do with it once she had. Was Daryl giving her a means to put an end to her suffering? Was he giving tacit permission? It was so unlike him, but her mind had been so consumed with grief that she could hardly piece together another explanation. “What’s this for?”

“Can’t run ‘round with nothin’ to protect yerself.” Daryl muttered. 

“I can’t take this from you.” Carol protested, eyeing the blade and noting the exceptional handle that felt easy in her grip. She wasn’t sure what the wood was, but thought it was a rare design, possibly even unique. ‘Dixon’ was carved into the base, verifying that it was his personal knife and not one he’d picked up elsewhere. 

“Got others.” Daryl shrugged. “Don’t need it.”

While there was no doubt that the hunter had other knives, one large one was visible right then strapped to his belt, Carol didn’t think he was the sort to easily hand over any of his weapons. She bit her lip. “I don’t know how to use it.”

“Ya gonna tell me Ed skinned his own kills?” Daryl scoffed. “Chopped his own food? Stop sellin’ yerself short.”

Carol had intended to give the knife back once she’d found a good one for herself, but they’d gotten separated before that happened, and now she clung to it as a reminder of the man whose name was carved into the handle. But it wasn’t just a reminder now that she’d used it to save Lori, and it wasn’t just a passive opportunity to end it all. That knife was something she could do. She could protect herself and others with it, and that was just the start. She had some general ideas about trapping that she’d gleaned from Ed’s hunting days that she could start to employ. She knew some of the local plant life that would be safe to eat. She vaguely knew firearms. And she knew that she could learn. She would stay with the group, and she would learn to be a resource they could rely on, like the people who were no longer with them.

 

=============

 

Three days later, Daryl returned to his room to find Rick holding a small bundle and cooing at it, smile wide across his face. The hunter set down their food and came around to look at the tiny figure swaddled and tucked into Rick’s arms. The delicate, vulnerable newborn tugged at something inside his chest, and his heart swelled to accommodate the sudden influx of warm feelings. He tried to squash them down. Realistically speaking, the kid was not going to survive. And even if it did, it wasn’t his. Then, the child opened its eyes and looked straight at him, and Daryl knew he was in trouble. He reached out a finger, and the baby grasped it tightly in a surprisingly strong grip. To hell with statistics, he was keeping this baby alive. 

“Boy or girl?” 

“Girl.” Rick responded, smiling even wider as he foisted the baby off on Daryl, setting her into his arms when they instinctively came up. Daryl didn’t have much experience with kids in general and even less with babies; he knew he didn’t look like a good influence on children and had historically acted the part. It hadn’t been uncommon for women with small children to cross the street or lock their doors if they saw him coming. Rick’s own wife had scolded Carl for going too near his campsite on more than one occasion. Yet, Rick didn’t hesitate to pass off the wiggling infant, like he didn’t doubt for a second that Daryl would keep her safe. “Quiet most of the time, too, like she knows it’s important.”

Daryl failed to contain his answering smile. “She got a name?” 

Rick shook his head. “Not yet. Rachel said something about Vikings not naming their kids until they turned two or something, in case they died, but I’m pretty sure Claire just wasn’t ready.”

“Claire’s alright, then?” 

Rick shrugged, sat down and started in on his stew before giving a proper answer. Daryl levered himself down beside him with a bit of trepidation, careful of the precious cargo. She felt so small and fragile in his grip, he thought he might accidentally hurt the kid. “From what I got out of Rachel, it was pretty terrible. The birth was hard enough; it’s not like we’ve got all the supplies we should here. Then, the baby starts crying and everyone starts freaking out, like they didn’t know it was coming. You’d think none of these people had ever seen a baby before.” 

Might not be far off, Daryl considered. There wasn’t anyone here who should be around children. Hell, he even felt out of his depth cradling her, but too enamored to give up his charge anyway. “Ain’t great planners.”

“They were going to kill her. Claire said she’d kill herself if they did, then Judith started throwing around threats. Think Jane would have just killed them all if it had been her decision, but Harlan talked her out of it.” Rick stroked the baby’s cheek, and it was clearly written on his face that he was considering what kind of monsters would suggest murdering a baby. “Glad he’s here to temper Jane out. Thank god for small favors.”

Daryl grunted. He wasn’t sure Harlan was any safer than Jane. One was a poison-dart frog, painted in threats and danger. The other was a cow, tame and unassuming until it felt threatened, and then it’d charge and trample just about anything under its sixteen hundred pound mass. 

“She’s… working.” Rick spat the word, clenching onto his emptied bowl as the anger visibly shook him. “Jane insisted that Claire would only be getting fed if she was contributing and the baby would have to survive off of what milk she could produce.”

Daryl looked down at his own bowl, still full of stew, and tried to keep the guilt from consuming him. It was his fault Claire was in this situation. He should have made his move earlier. Now he would have to review everything piece by piece and try to account for a baby as well, and he still hadn’t figured out what kept holding him back from pulling that trigger. Daryl longed for Merle’s overbearing presence. It was easy to fall in line behind his older brother’s larger, intimidating force. He’d make the decision, and Daryl would back him up. And sure, Merle had led him astray plenty of times in the past, too many to count, and he probably shouldn’t trust his judgement, but it was comforting to let him lead anyway. Maybe it was just the familiarity of it all, falling back on the same routine he’d had his whole life, or maybe it was because, at the end of the day, Merle cared enough to consider him when making decisions. For all his faults, Merle had ‘take care of Daryl’ in the back of his mind since the day he was born, and there hadn’t ever been anyone else who’d expressed an interest in his well-being.

Except maybe Rick, who was currently fussing over holding the newborn so Daryl could eat, even as Daryl tried to protest that he wasn’t hungry. “Should save it for Claire.” Or maybe Rick simply understood that their fates were inseparable and the concern was little more than self-preservation. 

“No, you most of all can’t afford to skip meals.” Rick said it like the decision was already made, and it was strangely comforting to accept the order for what it was and work his way through the stew he had no appetite for. 

The next morning, Joe walked Daryl out to the forest, which was nearly a daily occurence. There was no snow on the ground that morning, and the sunlight was warm enough that Daryl wasn’t cursing his lack of gloves. All told, winter was still in its earliest stages, even if Rick had taken to complaining about the unending chill weeks ago and was trying to calculate when it would end. Daryl didn’t know how to break it to the cop that a few light flurries and cold snaps aside, the cold always set in about this time of year and would go on for months more. It was just that this was probably the first year in Rick’s life that he’d be going without heaters, fires or good insulation. 

“That baby keep y’all up?” Joe asked cheerfully as he passed over Daryl’s daily rations. It amounted to about a small meal that Daryl usually saved for an early lunch. 

Daryl shrugged. “Not really.” It was a stretch at best, but thankfully Joe didn’t push him on the answer. Daryl had never had the opportunity to room with a newborn before, and what he’d discovered that night was that they had an expectation to be fed every few hours regardless of the time of night, food that he and Rick didn’t have. They’d been up for hours trying to hush the whining child until Claire got back, when she took the crying newborn into her arms with a look of adoration and unconditional love.

“Good.” Joe commented. “If it becomes a problem, though, there is a second bed in my room.”

Giving Joe a side-glance to ensure that the offer was being made in earnest, Daryl nodded in response, trying to keep his face blank as his mind whirled with the connotations of that suggestion. It wasn’t just an offer of a new sleeping arrangement, it was an offer of sleeping in  _ Joe’s _ room, where Joe would be vulnerable and the door wouldn’t be locked. It was an offer of trust, and an offer to move up within the ranks of The Living, not just as an official member of Joe’s group, but as someone worthy enough to share his own space. 

Daryl could take him up on the offer, probably should take him up on it. It would put him in a better position in the group, no longer a prisoner, but someone with some shred of power and authority. It would give them their best chance at survival with The Living, and their best chance of escape from them. But at the same time, Daryl knew he couldn’t accept. If he confessed that the baby was a problem for him, Joe would move him as promised, but he’d probably have the child killed as well, and that wasn’t something he could risk. 

Joe was just as terrifying and cruel as Jane or Harlan, and Daryl only stuck close to him because of Joe’s peculiar affection for him. Daryl was still working him out despite usually being able to read people quickly and accurately. He understood that the older man had expressed an interest in him from their first meeting that was unusual and uncomfortable. As the weeks progressed, it’d evolved into something that would be better described as obsessive. Joe sought him out for conversation, dragged him into discussions with others, asked his advice, and was endlessly sharing his insights on the new world order with him. Joe frequently talked about ‘men like us’ in their mostly one-sided conversations. At first, Daryl thought he was taunting him, stringing him along because he’d already determined that he’d been lying. It took days for Daryl to accept that he genuinely believed Daryl belonged with them. Daryl was a little afraid that Joe was right.

The interest wasn’t sexual like Rick thought, he was almost positive of that. It was more like Joe wanted him as a second-in-command or possibly an heir. But that wasn’t quite right, either. He’d tried to put words to it so he could explain it to Rick, and the closest he came was that Joe considered people a disposable resource, and, for whatever reason, didn’t see Daryl as disposable. Maybe he’d seen the way Daryl had protected Rick and wanted that loyalty for himself. Or maybe he was still confused about why Daryl hadn’t shot him when the opportunity presented itself on their first meeting. Maybe he saw them as kindred spirits, identifying with him far more than Daryl thought appropriate. 

It occurred to Daryl within their first few conversations that Joe and Merle would have gotten on like a house on fire. They both were rough around the edges like it was a fashion choice and thrilled at being crude to the point that it made people uncomfortable. They kept a sense of superiority borne through stereotypes and hatred and held aloft by a set of self-defined rules which they felt made their behavior acceptable. And Daryl had little doubt that Papa Joe had also beaten his son something fierce. He was branded with it in his mannerisms in a way that Daryl couldn’t define but could see clearly. He wondered if he and Merle had been wearing their past so openly without even knowing it and if that shared bit of history was what drew Joe to him.

What concerned Daryl most about that train of thought was that he couldn’t pinpoint where Joe and Merle would diverge. He’d watched Joe’s men beat one of their own to death after he’d lied to Joe’s face about doing a perimeter check. Daryl had been rooted to the spot, unable to help the poor bastard, unsure if he deserved saving as he was one of the familiar faces that abused Rachel and Claire. Joe had egged them on, told the attackers that they were teaching the man a lesson. Daryl struggled to keep his mouth shut about dead men not learning lessons. It was only a small mercy that they shot him in the head when they were finished so he wouldn’t turn. Was Merle capable of that? Yeah, Daryl could admit that he was, but he hoped his brother wasn’t the sort to go through with it, wasn’t the sort to revel in it.

“Something on your mind?” Joe interrupted, reminding Daryl that he shouldn’t let his thoughts wander or let his guard down in the other man’s presence.

“Just thinkin’ ‘bout my brother.” Daryl tried to keep his responses as honest and as short as possible. It was the safest way to talk to Joe. 

Joe cocked his head. “Merle? Left him in Atlanta?” 

Daryl nodded. Of course Joe had already catalogued that information. Then, because Joe was waiting for more, Daryl fed him what he could deem as safe. Preferably, it was repeat information, but he’d stick something new in on occasion so he didn’t come off as evasive. “Only brother I got. Ain’t got no proof he’s still alive, ‘cept he’s too stubborn to die. Figure he’d like you.”

Joe practically preened at the praise, like he wanted to impress Daryl’s brother before he even met him. It was more unsettling than it was a comfort. Daryl didn’t think there was anyone Joe liked well enough not to betray in the right circumstances. It was the problem with staying with The Living, even if he somehow managed to move them away from being prisoners. There was no honor among them, even if Joe did have a code.   

They parted ways shortly thereafter, and Daryl tried not to sigh too loudly at finally being by himself in the comfort of the woods, the closest thing he’d ever had to a home. He needed to be extra productive today, and while a lot of that was luck, he could help it along with good strategies and concentration. They were all counting on him with their shrinking portion sizes, and Claire was going to need more food than before. 

First, Daryl checked his traps, resetting them and migrating a couple that didn’t seem to be faring well. Then, Daryl would search for sign of deer while taking down any small critters he came across that were worth the effort of prepping. Mice and small birds were usually the only escapees. When the sun was high in the sky, Daryl would hike to his personal spot beside a small hill for lunch. 

The location was prime real estate because he was hidden from three directions by thick shrubbery, rocky edges and the hill. It wasn’t the greatest defense against Walkers because it would leave him blocked in, but it made for a very discrete camping spot where the smoke and light from a small fire could be concealed. A few times each week, Daryl would start up a fire and skin and cook a couple of his kills as fast as he could, working only with a steel rebar as a spit and a broken horseshoe as the world’s worst skillet. There was little in the way of proper tools to be found beneath the fallen leaves, but trying to sneak something out increased his chances of getting caught. He loathed that he was forced to burn up the skins and possible useful but inedible parts, but he didn’t dare leave them anywhere that might get found.  Len had a nasty habit of wandering into Daryl’s hunting terf to check in on him. 

While the meat cooked, Daryl scouted the neighboring area for anything else he could slip back to his cellmates or subsidize his own meal. He was not above eating worms, mushrooms, nuts, seeds, and leaves, but most of the berries and edible plants were too far out of season to be of any use. It was during his foraging attempts that Daryl saw a distinct boot print in the mud that did not belong to his own shoes. He straightened slowly, heart hammering. It was too close to his secret cooking spot. Someone had been here. They must have seen him cooking the meat he was supposed to turn in. 

Daryl tried to calm himself down. It could have been a Walker. He traced the footsteps back, looking for more signs of an intruder and slowly started to piece together more of the puzzle. There was no way a Walker had moved so carefully around the place and left so few tracks behind. It was possible the other hunter had only visited briefly and earlier, and knew nothing of his secret. But Daryl wasn’t prone to getting lucky.

“You know, Daryl, I thought we had an understanding.” Joe’s voice came suddenly from behind him, and Daryl had to concentrate to not jump from it. The man had nearly managed to sneak up on him before when they first met, so he wasn’t entirely surprised by his unexpected appearance. But the tone was something he couldn’t recall hearing since his father died. “I’ve been good to you, good to your pal, Andy. You seemed to get it, but...I guess I misread the situation.” 

Daryl turned slowly, stowing his finds in his satchel and shouldering his crossbow. He could shoot Joe right then, and make a run for it, but he didn’t doubt that there were others nearby and the attempt would get both him and Rick killed. The smell of burning wood and cooking meat was heavy in the air and there was no way Daryl could claim ignorance here. “Didn’t have a choice.” Daryl finally settled on, wondering if there was any chance Joe would beat him to death but leave Rick alive. 

The gray-haired man gestured for him to walk back towards his firepit, which Daryl reluctantly did, Joe walking in tandem, like they were friends having a friendly chat. “See, we’ve always got choices. You chose to take from the meat that you promised to our group. I think we can agree that’s stealing. If you’re telling me you didn’t have a choice, then I’d say you’re lying as well.”

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip. There was no way he was getting out of this alive. He’d seen what Joe did to theives or liars. “Didn’t think we’d survive on what we were given.” 

“There you go.” Joe replied, thumping Daryl hard on the back and making him nearly lose his balance. Daryl stiffened and nearly rammed his elbow into Joe’s jaw as his hand slid down his back to his pants, but the leader just retrieved his gun before pulling back. They’d arrived at his breached sanctuary, and there were several of Joe’s hunters waiting for them. Billy had taken the squirrel carcass off the flames and was tending to the fire and the meat. Len was standing towards the back, pleased grin on his face, and Daryl would stake his soon to be terminated life that Len was the one that had followed him and reported his hiding spot. “Now, you tell me the truth, son. You do this before or is this your first offense?”

Daryl glanced around at the group, calibrating his odds of fighting them off. Six on one weren’t good odds in the best of scenarios, but his back was to the opening of an enclosure that was blocked in every other direction. He might be able to dodge out of the space and get some headway on them between the trees. Of course, they were all armed with guns and more. It was suicide. ‘Suicide is stupid.’ Joe’s voice echoed in his head, a comment he’d made several times now, and his eyes seemed to be saying right then when Daryl’s gaze finally landed on him.

Daryl tried to decide what the safest answer would be. Joe liked him well enough right up until that morning. Maybe there was some way to play on that affection. First offense sounded like it might be an easy out, but Joe liked honesty, so he’d give him honesty. It would be a hell of a lot better than what would happen if Joe already knew about all the other times. “Ain’t the first time.”

“Good boy.” Joe praised, and Daryl immediately bristled at being treated like a dog but wisely kept his mouth shut. Joe had to have known already that he’d done this before. “You fucked up, but you owned it, and I respect that.”

“Oh, come on!” Len groaned from the back, straightening and letting his irritation show. “You’re not seriously going to let him get away with this! He was keeping his kills from us, feeding himself and letting the rest of us go hungry. He broke one of your rules!”

There were murmurs of angry agreement from the men gathered around, but Daryl hadn’t expected any different. He hadn’t expected Joe to even consider letting him off for the offense. Joe raised his hand to stall the flow of unrest from his hunters. “No one gets to break the rules without punishment.” 

The others seemed to take this as permission to attack, and Daryl hardly made it a few steps backward before they were on him. It was enough time to twist his crossbow around and bring it up, but not enough time to aim, and the bolt went wild to stab into a tree without improving his odds at all. Harley tore the bow from his grip and tossed it aside.  

Daryl did his best to defend himself against the blows coming from all directions, raising his arms and punching out at everyone as his body jerked back and forth from the onslaught. Within minutes, he was on the ground, trying to protect himself from the worst of the damage from his vulnerable position, but they weren’t kicking. Instead, he felt several hands working to pin him face down in the dirt. Someone’s knees were on his shoulders, another set of hands were on his wrists, and someone else was straddling his thighs, hands pulling down on his waistband, thankfully halted by his belt. Daryl froze. 

“Jesus, Dan, you’ll really fuck anyone, won’t you?” Lou asked with a snort. 

The hands on his belt slid down to grope Daryl’s ass, fingers kneading into his clothed flesh. He could feel Dan’s erection poking him in the backside. It triggered Daryl to surge into action, trying to buck off the three people on top of him. They pushed down harder. Daryl couldn’t breathe.

“That’s enough.” Joe interrupted. “You don’t shit where you eat, and you don’t fuck people who don’t want it if you gotta work with them the next day. You want it, Daryl?” Joe didn’t wait for Daryl’s confirmation, just plugging on like his answer was a foregone conclusion. It absolutely was, but Daryl didn’t have the air to respond. “No? Okay, then, that’s that. Ain’t nobody’s fault but yers that you got banned from usin’ those two whores.”

Dan didn’t get up, but he stopped trying to work Daryl’s clothes off. The pressure on his back eased as well, and the pinned hunter took in deep breaths. “Whaddya mean we gotta work with him? Thought we was gonna teach him.”

“I’m going to teach him.” Joe declared, and Daryl thought it sounded just about as awful, even if he was obviously intending to spare his life. “He’s gonna be punished, something he ain’t ever gonna forget.”

Daryl couldn’t make out much around the legs pinning his shoulders down, and the dirt obscuring his vision. He could hear Joe moving around, and whatever he was doing seemed to satisfy his group well enough, and that was terrifying on its own. 

“Gag him.” Joe instructed. “Don’t need him attracting lamebrains.” Smelly, stale cloth was thrust into Daryl’s mouth, the awkward angle making it even harder to breathe when the weight returned to his shoulders. “Pull up his shirt.” His poncho was lifted, immediately followed by his vest and shirt in one go until he was skin was open to the air. He detested having his back exposed to anyone under the best circumstances, but not one of the hunters commented on the scars that littered his skin.

Daryl tried to keep himself calm. He could survive this. Whatever Joe had planned, he wanted Daryl to keep working for him, he’d just said as much, so it wasn’t going to kill him. He’d be okay. He’d survived all kinds of things in his lifetime. This was just going to be one more thing to survive. 

Daryl was screaming through his gag before he even had a chance to process the searing pain that suddenly appeared on his lower back, enveloping the area in a heat so intense that it felt more like several knives stabbing straight through him at once than a burn. He was choking and struggling to catch his breath behind the cloth shoved in his mouth, so distracted by the pain that he couldn’t coordinate any other effort his body was making. It took several minutes before he realized that the act was long since over and the pain was just lingering. No one was even on top of him anymore, he was just lying limply on the ground. Finally, his brain filled him in on what had happened, slowly re-engaging and battling the urge to pass out on sheer instinct. He’d been branded. Joe had pressed the red-hot broken horseshoe against his flesh. Someone tugged the cloth back out from his mouth, and he lay there gasping and panting, unsure if he’d ever move again. 

“Looks like a J.” Someone said with a snort. “Guess he belongs to you now, don’t he, Joe?”

Daryl didn’t perceive most of what happened over the next few hours, his brain too occupied by the overwhelming sensations of pain to bother with anything that wasn’t life threatening. He struggled against whoever it was that tried to drag him to his feet until they gave up and let go. Instead, he brought himself upright and looked around for his bow, locating it looped over Joe’s shoulder. He cursed silently and plodded along behind Joe and Harley. Billy trailed behind him, apparently charged with making sure he didn’t fall over. No one else was around that he could see. Everything went in and out of focus. If he fell, he didn’t recall the tumble or being brought back to his feet.

Daryl vaguely recalled being brought to see Judith and refusing to accept her help, either. The doctor eventually returned him to his room and left with the infant, muttering something about trading one baby for another that Daryl would be insulted by if he weren’t in so much pain. It was only when he was alone with Rick that he found himself submitting to the instructions to remove his shirt and lay down on the mattress. He didn’t want to comply with either order, but he could acknowledge that letting the wound get infected would be an awful choice and eventually succumbed to Rick’s quiet, steady logic. Applying the antibiotic cream and numbing lotion onto the site was painful regardless of Rick’s careful attempts to keep his touch gentle and light. It was in direct contrast to the way he was fuming at the fresh injury. 

The deadbolt flicked to the side, and Daryl turned desperate eyes to his friend, breath quickening. Rick seemed to catch onto his desire before the archer could even put words to his thoughts. He didn’t want to be laying down and vulnerable when someone else came in the room, so they both tried to ignore his pain and adjust him back into a seated position. The action proved worthwhile when Joe came into the room a second later. 

“Brought ya a little somethin’ special.” Joe announced, holding out a bowl of pineapple chunks, obviously from a can, but a pleasant surprise nonetheless. Daryl had been eating mostly stew for weeks; he was certain luxuries like these didn’t even exist in camp anymore. He accepted the bowl and ate a few pieces with his dirty fingers. 

“Thanks.” He mumbled, not sure what was expected of him.

“You know I had to do it, right?” Joe asked after a moment of watching him eat, completely ignoring Rick and the glares being shot his way. Daryl slowed down. He wanted to share the treasure with Rick, but he didn’t dare do it in front of Joe. “They wanted your blood.”

Daryl nodded slowly. The flaming sensation in his lower back disagreed vehemently with Joe’s assessment, and Rick was not subtle in his pissing anger, but Daryl wasn’t about to drown any good will between them if Joe was still looking to help. He’d make sure the man was dead when he left the group, but there was no sense in squandering what his pain had earned him. If there was more fruit to be had, Daryl was going to play along. “I get it.”

Joe nodded, pleased, but trying to keep it off his face. “And the offer still stands, if you want an upgrade in your accommodations.” 

That caught Daryl off guard, and he met Joe’s gaze in surprise. It seemed unbelievable that Joe would still be trying to promote him after what had happened today, but the intent was there. Daryl nodded again. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Joe finally bothered to address Rick. “Hope your leg is feeling better. You’re going to show us what you can do starting tomorrow so Daryl can rest up.”

“I’ll be ready.”

They both waited until the door was shut and locked before breathing properly again. Daryl passed the rest of his bowl over to Rick, who frowned at it. “He definitely wants to sleep with you.”

“He don’t.” 

“Let me guess, the upgrade on your accommodations was to share a room with him.”

Daryl shrugged, instantly regretting the pull on his sensitive skin. “Don’t matter, anyway, if he did. Just extra food for us.”

“You’re joking.” Rick declared, giving Daryl a pinched look. At first glance, Daryl would have thought it was jealousy, but that didn’t make any sense. He reviewed the data and tried to figure out what had Rick’s panties in a twist. He knew that any benefits from the extra attention were good for all of them. He should be encouraging Daryl to play it up. Unless he really thought Daryl had fallen for Joe’s charm and wanted to stay with The Living. He felt his face heat up, but he wasn’t sure if it was more in embarrassment or anger. 

“You were right. Shoulda left soon as ya could walk. Wouldn’t be injured an’ wouldn’t have a baby to worry ‘bout if I’d stuck to the plan.”

Rick shook his head, tension leaving his shoulders. “I shouldn’t have left it all on you. Should’ve come up with a plan together.”

“The plan was fine. Keep my bow. Shoot the guard. Leave out back. Easy. ‘Cept now we’ve got a baby.”

Rick looked utterly confused about why Daryl was now accepting the same plan he’d shot down before. “I don’t understand.”

Daryl chewed on his thumbnail as he thought. He didn’t want to tell Rick that he’d pussied out every time. He didn’t want to admit to his failure. But Rick had a right to know, especially if it might get them killed because Daryl had fucked up and waited too long. He didn’t know the right words to explain what had happened, so he forced himself to close his eyes and open his mouth and say whatever came out. “Dale was in pain. Mitch was gonna kill you. I don’t regret killin’ ‘em.” Daryl grit his teeth. “I regret attackin’ Jim an’ Jenner more. They didn’t deserve it. Was just scared.”

Rick’s hand came down on his shoulder in what was obviously meant to be a reassuring gesture, but Daryl shrugged it off immediately, ignoring the pain it brought to his back. The touch felt particularly awkward without the barrier of his shirt. “These people here, they’re not innocent. They deserve it.”

“I know.” Daryl cut in before Rick could start supplying a list of crimes. Rick didn’t even know the half of it. “This whole place should burn.” Daryl sighed, picking at a hole in his pants instead of looking at his friend. “I’ve been tryin’. I just can’t do it.”

“Jesus.”

Daryl waited for the reprimands, for Rick to tell him that their safety was at risk, that their cellmates were already suffering horribly, that time was not unlimited, that he needed to man up and do what had to be done. It was the same things he kept telling himself.

“I’m so sorry.” 

Daryl’s head jerked up, and he looked at Rick to try and piece together what he was thinking and came up empty. “Why?” ‘I’m the one that failed.’ He wanted to tack on but didn’t.

“I wasn’t thinking.” Rick shook his head like he was clearing it. “You killed someone for me. Did I even thank you for that?” Rick pressed forward like the answer was irrelevant, so Daryl didn’t answer. “In police training, I was taught what to expect if I had to kill someone, I came to terms with the possibility. And then, when it happened, I saw a counselor for months until I could learn to accept what I’d done and why. Many cops wash out after their first shooting because it’s not easy to kill another person. After the outbreak, when it became clear that there was no more law to rely on, I knew I’d have to do it again to protect my family. You just stepped up and did it because it needed to be done.”

“Still needs to be done.” Daryl muttered, frustrated with himself. 

“No, just listen.” Rick cut in, angling his head so Daryl would have to look at him. The hunter caved and met his gaze. “I expected someone with no training and no experience to commit pre-meditated murder by sneaking up on someone and shooting them in the back. That was not a reasonable expectation, and it was unfair for me to put it on you. You balked at it because you’re a good person, Daryl.”

Daryl ducked his head and almost snorted at the accusation. He knew what the problem was with their plan now, and it sure as shit wasn’t him being a good person. He was going to have to pull that trigger on another human being again, and Mitch’s death still haunted him. Not because he’d done it, but because he’d done it so easily and did not regret it even a little bit. He was afraid of what sort of monster he’d become if he took off the leash. Daryl thought a lot about killing Dale as well, wondering if maybe the ease with which he’d accepted that job and position wasn’t because he wanted to help end the old man’s suffering, but because killing came easily to him. Did he belong with this heartless group of killers for crossing that line without one hint of remorse? Everyone always said that Dixon blood was bad blood. Maybe they were right.

Rick reached out and turned his head with a barely present touch on his chin that was uncomfortably intimate, but the cop clearly didn’t notice or didn’t care, dropping his hand when Daryl looked at him again. “You are. I owe you my life several times over, and I’m not the only one. I’m sorry for how everything fell on you, and I don’t blame you for not being able to do it all. I’m going to be hunting for the next few days. I’m going to take care of it and get us out of here. It’s my turn to step up.”

Rick set aside their dishes and helped him lay back down. Every slight tug on the skin of his back felt like fire, and Daryl clenched his teeth tightly to barrel through the pain of getting situated. He decided on one side so nothing would brush up against his back and the blanket wouldn’t get stuck to the wound. He felt Rick crawl under the covers and shift against him until the waves of pain abated enough to process that Rick was on his back with Daryl’s head resting on his shoulder. This wasn’t how they usually slept. It had been a solid month since Daryl had last put up any fuss about their sleeping arrangements, the memorable occasion when Rick had decided that it was cold, and they were spooning, and the only say he was giving Daryl was whether he wanted to be the big spoon or the little one. Daryl had folded because it was too cold for an ego, and they simply stopped talking about how they slept. He would have gone right on ignoring it, if not for the way Rick’s hand had slipped into the hunter’s hair and was currently making soothing rubbing motions. “Ain’t yer damn wife.” Daryl frowned, but he didn’t know if he had the energy to shift away or even bat at the hand in his hair. Any of that would probably ramp up the searing heat of his wound. 

Chuckling, Rick didn’t let up on the comforting motions. “Oh, I know. Just trust me, okay?”

Consciously, Daryl forced his body to relax. Rick’s touch, firm but gentle, was familiar territory now. More familiar, he realized, than anyone that had come before. Most people didn’t dare touch him, and those that did usually found a good reason not to continue shortly thereafter. Even Merle, far more tactile than Daryl by nature, only rarely threw an arm over his shoulders or smacked his back in affection. Those were the only acceptable gestures between men, Merle had explained once in a drunken rant, unless there was going to be fighting or fucking involved. Merle would have a conniption if he saw the way his brother was letting the cop touch him, but Merle wasn’t there, and it was nice to have the comfort of someone who felt safe and cared about him.  

He was starting to drift when Rick started talking, voice little more than a whisper. “You did real good, Daryl. You’ve been so good to me, kept me alive, kept me safe. Nothing for you to feel bad about. Not for killing Mitch. Not for waiting to leave here. Not a damn thing.” 

Daryl wanted to protest, complain that he wasn’t a child or a dog, and he didn’t need Rick’s praises or absolution. But even with the pain thrumming through him, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so content as he did right at that minute. He’d let it go on for just a minute and then he’d set Rick straight about this touchy-feely shit. He didn’t intend to fall asleep.

 

============


	10. Mercy of The Living

Since Judith was first forcibly recruited by The Living, she couldn't say that she’d ever slept easy. Now though, every night was plagued with recurring fears and memories. She’d largely stopped sleeping entirely, a trick she learned from her days in residency, and pulled out from time to time when she was on call too often. This was the first time she’d had to extend its usage without the benefit of caffeine and the wear was showing already. God, she missed coffee.

Shaking her head to try to stay alert, Judith dropped into a stool beside the definitely-not-sterile motel mattress doubling as a hospital bed. This was the fifth case that day involving some sort of brawl between two or more of The Living. Mostly, they were minor scuffles with easily treatable injuries, but one woman was left with a knife protruding from her shoulder. Three of the cases were directly linked to the food shortages, and the doctor would bet that the other two were probably related as well. Every day was worse than the last, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that they couldn’t risk staying, not after what had happened the last time they ran out of food. 

They hadn’t discussed it more than in passing, but Judith knew that Andy and Daryl had an escape in the works and planned to take them along. But the fact of the matter was that they’d waited too long, and now she had to concentrate on keeping Tyler safe. She was leaving without them. 

The upheaval in camp was fortunate because it generated an excuse to get out of the room while she checked on injuries, and it reduced the number of people available to stand guard. The next day, Judith increased her rounds, flitting around the motel and the surrounding buildings to check on everyone she’d treated and surreptitiously using her extended freedom of movement to pilfer as much gear as she could without arousing suspicion. Both her and Tyler’s bags were filled to bursting when she casually led the way to the food stores. It was strangely unguarded, but Judith wasn’t prepared to look a gift horse in the mouth. A few cans and she and Tyler would have a much better chance on their own. 

The boy bumped into her back as Judith stopped dead in her tracks while entering the room that should have been stocked with every bit of edible items in the group’s possession, bar what was being prepped from the hunters. There was nothing left. The room was devoid of anything. It was possible the food had been moved for safe-keeping, but the doctor knew in her heart that that was not the case. 

Tightly gripping her grandson’s hand, Judith pulled him along towards the collection of vehicles. The time for subterfuge was over. They needed to get out of there immediately, pull out all the stops and flee like a bat out of hell. Tyler had long since learned not to question her sometimes erratic behavior and obediently sped his pace to match her steps. Judith made a beeline for the sky blue rust-bucket in back. It was probably the oldest car there, but she knew it ran, and they’d long since lost the keys and had been using a screwdriver in the ignition to get it started. It was her best bet.

Her luck held out long enough for them to slink along the pavement and crawl into the car. Starting the car, however, was a dead giveaway, and Judith found herself whipping it around recklessly fast, checking a curb and narrowly avoiding a tree to get the vehicle onto the road as quickly as possible. A swell of shouts came from behind them, followed by a few gunshots and then more shouting. Judith pressed her foot further onto the pedal and glanced over at Tyler who was gripping at his seat belt like that hold alone would keep him alive. Judith wanted to say something to lighten his spirits, but even as they moved away from one danger, she knew there was another one ahead, and keeping her own optimism was already challenging enough.

Up the road they went, navigating around one crash and then another, cruising as quickly as she dared, when the car suddenly stuttered to a halt. Her first instinct was gas, but the gauge was settled at just above a quarter, so Judith wasn’t sure what to blame it on, except that it was an old car. They couldn’t afford to stop. The Living were undoubtedly on their tail, either to kill them or drag them back, and they were sitting ducks where they were. Judith looked around. There were a few other cars nearby. One of them might still be running, might still have gas. It wasn’t impossible. 

Judith looked over at Tyler to let him know the game plan, but his gaze was fixed beyond her through the driver’s window, eyes wide with a look of abject terror. The woman twisted around and spotted the lumbering corpse working its way towards them. Lamebrains, The Living called them. “Hey, it’s alright.” Judith reassured him as calmly as she could. “It’s just one. I can take care of it.” The window was a hand-crank. She could lower it just enough to slip a knife through the crack. They weren’t bright enough to pull back.

Tyler sat panting roughly, and Judith was reminded that he had virtually no experience with these creatures to speak of. All he knew for sure was that they’d killed his parents and everyone else he knew, and given the opportunity, they would rip him to shreds and eat him alive. 

Judith hushed him, spreading comforting words about her plan, but she didn’t think anything was sinking in from the way he lunged for the door handle. The doctor leaned across his seat to yank the door closed. “We’re safer in here.” She reminded him over and over again, tugging him bodily towards her so he wouldn’t have access to the door. He struggled harder. “We just have to stay calm.”

After a few minutes of no success and noting the arrival of two more undead, Judith changed her tactics. She took off her jacket and had Tyler lay on the floor of the backseat, covering up his head so she could deal with the problem. It worked, right up until the new lamebrains thudded against the car. Tyler dove for the opposite door handle to their approach, apparently too panicked to realize it was right next to her door and the original monster he’d been struggling to avoid. Judith grabbed his arm before he could open it, forcing him away from the danger. 

“Tyler, you have to calm down. Just close your eyes and count to 100. It’ll be over by then.” Judith pressed her palms over his eyes to help with the request, starting to count with him. At ten, she moved his own hands over his eyes and dropped her jacket back over him, sighing in relief that he’d finally given up. 

Judith turned to roll her window down a nudge, but realized that it was too late. The dead were on the ground, and the car was now surrounded by The Living. Reluctantly, Judith opened up her door and showed her hands, wishing they were still at the mercy of the lamebrains. 

“I wanted to cut off one of your hands.” Jane said conversationally, immediately directing Judith’s attention towards where she was standing between two idling cars. The doctor swallowed hard. “But I realize that you wouldn’t be a very good surgeon with only one hand.” Judith looked her in the eye, not contributing her own thoughts to the suggestion, but unable to hide the unease the mere notion brought up in her. “And then, I had a stroke of genius. Tyler’s not a doctor. He doesn’t need both his hands.”

“Please.” Judith was speaking before she had a chance to contemplate her words. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to do that. I’ll come back. I’ll stay with you.”

Jane took a few steps forward, placed her hands on her hips and spoke without emotion. “Here’s your only offer. Come back with us quietly, do your job and don’t ever pull this shit again, and I’ll only cut off two of his fingers. I’ll even let you choose which ones. Do anything, anything I don’t like, and he’s losing a hand, and you’ll still be coming back with us.”

Judith swallowed over and over, trying to get the acid back into her stomach. She could hear Tyler still counting behind her, blissfully oblivious to the threats being made against him just a few feet away. He was nearing 100. Tears prickled at her eyes, and the doctor felt a warped sense of unreality overtake her like when she’d found her daughter stumbling around in the woods, still chewing on her husband’s entrails. “We’ll come back with you.”

 

=============

 

The sunlight filtering through the trees felt better on Rick’s face than a bubble bath after a long day of hard labor ever had. It was the first time in weeks that he’d managed to get more than a strip of it slipping through the window of his cell. The soft breeze against his neck was no less than euphoric despite the chill in the air. He couldn’t have imagined how blissful something so simple would become to him a few months ago. Now, the fresh scent of pine trees mingled with earth and moss was easily superior to his favorite meal at the finest restaurant. He hadn’t even realized how miserable it had become to smell nothing but body odor. He’d even become so desperate that he’d press his nose into Daryl’s hair at night to try and chase the smells he was freely experiencing now. His breath fogged up in front of him, and he felt as giddy as a child on a snow day. 

And then it all came crashing down with a forceful shove between his shoulder blades. “Move it.”

Rick glared at Harley for ruining the moment but began walking forward obediently. The contentment of a minute ago was completely destroyed. Instead, Rick concentrated on his surroundings and keeping up with the others. He needed to remember everything, but that was only a secondary concern to ensuring his safety within the group, and then with Joe as everyone else fell away and he was led to Daryl’s normal territory. He decided to address the issue head on.

“No way he believes it’s an accident if something happens to me first day out.” Rick stated as soon as it was just Joe walking along beside him and chatting about expectations. There was no question as to whom he was referencing.

Joe snorted. “No, I don’t suppose he would.” For all that Joe liked Daryl, he hated Rick just as much. Rick had a pretty good idea that it had everything to do with him occupying the spot Joe clearly wanted at Daryl’s side and in his bed. He just couldn’t figure out why his friend, with all his general perceptiveness and ability to read people, was blatantly ignoring Joe’s advances, even after getting branded like livestock. And for what? Pineapple?  

It was also very clear that Joe wasn’t just prepared to go straight through him to get to Daryl, but rather planned on it. He’d obviously hoped that Rick would die of his wounds long before he became an issue or used up too many of their resources. The motel had provided a relative form of safety because there weren’t a lot of things that would affect only one person there. Now that he was being taken out to hunt, Rick could already see the gears working in Joe’s head. 

“Not on the  _ first _ day.” Rick swallowed hard and nodded. They had an understanding then. A truce for the day but no promises for the next one. There was one saving grace to Joe’s fascination with Daryl: he wanted Daryl to  _ want _ to be with him.  He didn’t seem interested in forcing Daryl into anything as Rick had initially feared. It was awful enough to watch Claire and Rachel be dragged from the room day after day, Rick didn’t want to contemplate Daryl suffering a similar fate. Instead, Joe seemed to be patiently trying to convince Daryl to come to him on his own. Joe nodded back, patting him heavily on the shoulder before turning to leave. “Feel free to wander off, though.” 

Rick waited until Joe was completely out of sight before turning around and heading down the ridge to a location Daryl had described. The temptation to shoot Joe was great, but it was imperative that he kept his cool until he had a good plan worked out. He had no doubt that if he showed up at the motel unaccompanied, they’d kill him on sight, and if they found he’d killed one of their own, there would be dire consequences served between all the captives. Joe didn’t trust him an inch, which meant he’d already prepared for any common reactions Rick might try to follow through on. It would be easier to lull them into a sense of complacency and then make his move, presumably what Daryl had intended to do. But Rick was sure he’d already acquired a huge target on his back which made that scenario unlikely at best. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Rick let himself relax for a moment. The first trap was empty, but he knew where to look for the others, and the soft wind and partial sunlight on his face still felt incredible. Without Joe leaning over his shoulder, Rick could enjoy being released from his prison and allowed to move about properly. He’d missed the fresh air and the clean smells and the unimpeded walking. 

He’d been going stir-crazy, Rick decided as he shifted direction and carefully made his way down an incline, mindful of not stressing his only recently recovered leg. That morning, Daryl had woken him up just before dawn broke, shuffling off of him and face planting into the pillow instead. Rick had grabbed the lotion left by the doctor from beside their bed and started applying it to Daryl’s injury, a blistering fiery red J beneath Daryl’s large demon tattoo. The archer hissed and curled away from him, but Rick just steadied him with his other hand. 

“It’ll feel better in a minute.” Rick muttered as he worked, comforting himself as much as his friend. It wasn’t easy being the direct cause of his pain, even though he was trying to help. And it felt even worse because there was a not insubstantial part of him that was definitely enjoying the freedom to put his hands on Daryl.

The hunter stilled beneath him, and Rick tried very carefully to keep his touch as light and clinical as possible, but his mind kept wandering to how warm and smooth the skin under his left hand felt, the hand that didn’t strictly need to be there but absolutely refused to obey commands to return to its owner. Instead, his thumb was rubbing soothing circles right beside a stray scar. He could feel Daryl breathing steadily beneath that hand, could feel the corded muscle and the lowest two ribs. Rick wanted to bend over and press a kiss into that spot. He wanted to spread kisses all over Daryl’s back.

Rick jerked back quickly, peeling his hands from his task and wiping off the excess lotion onto his pant leg. He cleared his throat and hoped his voice didn’t sound too strangled. “All done.” He was saved from any further conversing by the appearance of one of Joe’s lackeys at the door. He couldn’t name most of them, and he only vaguely recognized this one who was taking him out to start his day in the forest.

The third trap was damaged and Rick tried his best to fix it, reciting Daryl’s instructions inside his head a few times before deciding it was a lost cause and moving on. He shot a squirrel on his way to the next trap where he was fortunate enough to find a rabbit. After, he spotted a hoof print in one of the spatterings of snow and tried to track it from there, scanning the ground over and over again for the signs that Daryl had taught him. It was a whole lot harder in practice than he’d anticipated, but didn’t quite keep his mind from wandering back to that morning.

He was outside now, refreshed, and with some small measure of freedom. So, in theory, if his sudden urges to touch and kiss Daryl were simply a manifestation of being cooped up with no other reasonable candidates and a reawakening sex drive, the prospect should have mostly disippated. Except it hadn’t. If anything, it was stronger than before, and he was bombarded by images of the way the morning could have been. Rick wanted to run his hands up and down Daryl’s back, a vulnerability he hardly exposed to anyone, but exposed to Rick. He wanted to lean over the broad, strong shoulders so his kisses could land on the hunter’s face. He wanted to line their hips up and rub against him until Daryl gasped and pushed back. Rick forcefully cut off that train of thought before things became any more uncomfortable.

So he was attracted to Daryl. He could man up and admit that, especially in the quiet of his own head. It wasn’t that farfetched. He’d been attracted to men before without allowing it to become an issue, hell, he’d found Shane attractive, and he’d never done anything about that. Shane was straight, and even though he’d probably have fooled around with Rick anyway, to try things out, Rick was not prepared to endanger their friendship over something that was definitely a mistake. He didn’t want to be a notch in Shane’s bedpost or a drunken experiment. 

And then he’d met Lori, and it didn’t matter at all if he wanted to sleep with men because he wanted to be a good and loyal husband far more. He fell for her hard and fast, taking her in as perfection between the hazy glow of a new relationship and the blurring lines of young love. Lori was beautiful, kind, determined, and courageous, and had fallen for Rick just as quickly. They got married young and had Carl not long after, and it took Rick years to realize he didn’t know her well at all, having just seen what he’d wanted to when he looked at her. Still, he had a wife out there somewhere. They may have been in a rocky situation and she may have cheated on him, but Rick had no doubt that he loved her and wanted to find her again. He was married, and he needed to squash whatever this blooming attraction was in the bud. 

He also didn’t want to get punched in the face for making unwanted advances. This point, though, was beginning to feel increasingly unlikely. The archer tolerated his touch every night without complaint and just the previous evening had accepted his comfort. Rick’s previous assumptions about homophobic tendencies were slowly being replaced by the idea that Daryl just didn’t know much about human contact. 

 By the end of the day, Rick hadn’t caught much more, long since abandoning his attempts at tracking the deer that had either climbed a tree or vanished into thin air. Still, he had a few squirrels and a couple rabbits, and he felt like a conquering hero as he found his way back to his meeting spot. Lou was there, unenthusiastic about having to escort him and eyed his catch briefly. 

“Ain’t enough.” Lou informed him as he approached.

“There’s not much out here.” Rick reasoned. “Winter’s coming, and there’s a lot of us hunting.”

Lou shrugged like he didn’t care, which he probably didn’t, and they continued on in silence. It wasn’t until Rick was returned to their room with no tray of food for dinner that the cop determined what ‘enough’ had meant. Daryl confirmed it, not bothering to get up. He was laying on his stomach on their mattress, arm wrapped protectively around the tiny, sleeping baby sprawled beside him. Rick wished he had a camera so he could preserve the image forever.

“Gotta reach a minimum ‘fore they give ya dinner.” Daryl whispered so as not to wake the infant. “Twice as high for you, ‘cuz yer feedin’ both of us.”

Rick swallowed and nodded. No wonder Daryl looked so exhausted trying to keep up with such high demands. And he’d done that on top of the food he’d been smuggling. Of course, there was no way Rick would be able to smuggle any of his own now that that secret was out, so it looked like they’d be going hungry that night. 

“Just gonna get harder from here.” Daryl added after a bit of watching Rick silently blame himself. “No one’s gonna do well with huntin’ as it gets colder. Just not as much to find. Doesn’t help we’ve pretty well cleared this area.” Rick nodded. This wasn’t news, it was the same conclusions he’d drawn about the situation. This camp was a time bomb, and they needed to get out of there. But the best plan he had come up with so far was to bide his time.

They didn’t go hungry that night. Rachel and Claire both shared a portion of their own meals, insisting that Daryl and Rick had already given them so much that it was their turn to give back. They didn’t accept no for an answer, and Rick didn’t want to give them that answer. He’d rather go hungry than take food from a slowly starving nursing mother, but he also knew how important it was for them to feel like they could do something positive for a change. Daryl threw him a look at his instructions to take the food, but followed his lead anyway, either puzzling out his logic or having faith that there was a reason. 

The following morning, Daryl tried to insist that he was good to go hunting despite his stiff movements and pained grunts. Rick and Joe finally agreed on something and insisted that he stay put for a few more days. It was almost comical to be hunting while Daryl stayed behind with a newborn tucked securely in the crook of his arm, both of them completely out of their depths with their new roles. 

After the initial terror at being left alone with a newborn subsided, Daryl was actually great with the baby. He kept her from fussing even when Claire was gone for too long, and kept her clean and happy. It was definitely in the top ten most adorable things Rick had seen in his life, not that he was stupid enough to say that aloud.

Joe didn’t try to kill him the next day, or the one after that, but Rick knew it was coming, the weight resting heavily on his shoulders. As soon as he was in the woods, he felt like his senses heightened in preparation for an attack that might come out of nowhere, and getting through the day with this hypervigilance was exhausting. In the evenings, he practically fell into bed just moments after arriving, which was probably for the best as they weren’t being given anything for dinner aside from water. It was entertaining to watch Daryl struggle with his pent up energy after just a couple days because it felt like vindication for his mounting frustration from the last few weeks. At least, it was entertaining until Daryl kept writhing around in bed at night and waking his bed mate up repeatedly. Between him and the newborn’s schedule, Rick thought he might snap and do something stupid.

On the third day, Judith came by to check in on everyone. Rick immediately noticed that she kept her eyes downcast and barely spoke a word as she went through her normal examinations. Her grandson was also not in sight, which was an odd and troubling occurrence. He followed her like a tail. 

“Everything alright?” Rick asked cautiously. “Tyler okay?” 

Judith shrugged, her face tight and eyes averted. “He’ll be okay.”

“What happened?” 

“Things are getting worse out there.” The doctor replied evasively. “The scavengers have been going further out and bringing back less. The food stores are empty.”

“Empty?” Claire sucked in a breath, inching closer and subconsciously holding her child tighter to her chest. “I thought they put everyone on half rations.” Rick was pretty sure they’d started out on half rations, and cursed the group for not starting everyone out that way. They should have been looking to stretch their supplies a lot sooner.

“That was a week ago. Now, the food’s gone.” Judith confirmed miserably as she packed up her things and headed for the door. “If you see a way out, I suggest you take it.” No one was surprised that when the door closed after her, it stayed closed until morning without dinner being brought for any one of them.

 

=============

 

Lori lay shivering and hungry in her sleeping bag, watching Carl sleep. Even in light of everything that had happened and the struggle daily survival had become, her son rarely had any difficulty drifting off. She thanked god for that. It was one of life’s ironies that before the world came crashing down, Lori had rarely expressed her gratitude for her many blessings, and now she found herself desperately counting and rejoicing in them every day. 

She was alive, but more importantly Carl was alive. She was with a group that looked after her and protected her child. She had something to eat nearly every day, though it hurt to recognize that this was not the case for most of the others. They had fire to keep warm. The baby was still growing.

Lori actively kept those thoughts in mind, listing them over and over throughout the day because if she slipped up and let them go, her mind almost immediately fell back into a circle of despair. Rick was dead. Shane was dead. She was so hungry and so cold all the time. The only reason she ever managed to put one foot in front of the other was because Carl was still there, and he needed her. 

Often, she’d think back to the days on the farm and how the place had seemed almost magical in its serenity. It was why Rick had tried so hard to make it work. But then the memories of peacefulness would fade, she’d think about all the arguments she’d had and how she’d been wrong about every one of them. Lori had clung to the old world, naively thinking of stability and homes instead of security and survival. She was wrong about graveyards, wrong about Shane’s relentlessness, wrong about treating every new problem like they were temporary. She hadn’t known loss, Andrea had said as much, but Lori refused to hear it. Now, the simmering anger at her words seemed meaningless. Her struggles of the time were only minor inconveniences. Now, she could understand Andrea’s pleas for death and her support of giving Beth the option. 

Lori glanced across the fire where Carol stood guard. Carol knew loss, better than any of them, Lori figured. She couldn’t fathom how the childless widow kept going, kept getting stronger, in the face of it all. She’d somehow managed to turn a quiet resignation to abuse into something else entirely. Lori wished she knew how to emulate her, to flourish under the harshest of circumstances.

“You need sleep.” Carol chided kindly. 

“I know.” Lori responded. Shifting onto her side to look at Carl again and resting her hand on her stomach, she tried to figure out why it was so much harder to sleep without Rick or Shane nearby. It wasn’t fundamentally any different than sleeping beside Carl while someone else was on watch, but it felt different. She wasn’t sure if it was simply due to spending so much of her life with someone who cared about her at her side, or if their protective natures had brought a better feeling of security to the group. Lori desperately wished Rick was alive, so she could lay in his embrace and feel his fingers running through her hair again as he tried to soothe away her fears and distress. She blinked back tears. 

Rolling over in a feeble attempt to get comfortable, Lori considered her children, if only to avoid thoughts of her husband. She’d been wrong about them, too. It wasn’t about some well of good memories that they had to draw from. It was about adaptability and perseverance. Carl had those things, and the baby would, too, if they managed to keep it alive on the pitiful rations they could acquire. It’s why he was snoring softly beside her and she was awake dwelling on memories.

 

=============

 

When Joe’s assassination attempt finally came, Rick didn’t immediately recognize it for what it was. After all, Rick stumbled across the occasional Walker as a regular part of being outside the safety of their encampment. It only made sense that sooner or later he’d come across a herd, or it would come across him. He wasn’t even suspicious when Len ran by him, shoving him hard in the back and causing him to stumble onto his knees shortly before he heard the sounds of the approaching undead. As far as the cop could figure, Len had never done anything that fell under the category of altruistic in his entire life and that sort of behavior was par for the course. Rick dragged himself to his feet and quickly took off after the other man, mindful of the way his leg twinged with the effort. The Walkers were close, and there were definitely more than a dozen of them following, but he could easily stay ahead of them with a moderate pace. He wasn’t even suspicious when he tripped for a second time over someone else’s animal trap. He finally clued in when he had reached the ladder to the hunting stand only to have a bullet lodge into the wood between his hands. 

Ears still ringing from the shot, Rick look up and was unsurprised to see the gun wielder was Joe. Len was nowhere to be found, but Rick figured he was probably somewhere nearby hiding and cackling. Rick glared at Joe, but turned away from the ladder. It wasn’t worth the risk; he’d find a new place to hide. Except Joe was apparently eager to watch him get torn to shreds by the impending herd and gave another warning shot as Rick started to make distance from the tree stand. Message received: he was stuck in that clearing.

Taking in his surroundings with a quick, efficient look, Rick contemplated his options. Fighting the Walkers off with just his six-shooter was not ideal, but possible. The ground was mostly clear and even, so he would probably stand a chance fighting by hand, but there were a lot of them to contend with. There were a few clusters of trees that could cover his back, but they’d also trap him. He saw Joe smirking at him, legs dangling from the wooden perch and gun lazily draped over the edge. Rick sucked in a deep breath, trying to stave off panic. He could shoot Joe, but it was unlikely that he could pull it off without at least earning his own bullet. Assuming he was successful, there was Len somewhere around here, and probably more of Joe’s group lurking around to keep him in line. And even if he took them all on successfully, he wouldn’t be able to make it back into the motel without them. 

Cursing under his breath, Rick took several steps back until the asshole in the tree stand let off another warning shot, then scooted until he had a couple trees covering his six. He’d climb up one if he weren’t positive Joe would shoot him down from there, too. 

The Walkers crested the hill, and Rick quickly counted them. Sixteen. No, seventeen. He checked his chamber and confirmed what he already knew. He only had four bullets left. Somehow he doubted Joe would be inclined to toss him a spare firearm. Aiming carefully to make sure he wouldn’t waste any of his limited supply, Rick took down four of the ones closest to him in quick succession. Thirteen more to go. He pulled out his two knives and got them ready. One was Daryl’s, a large, sharp buck knife he was borrowing while the hunter was out of commission, which he kept in his dominant hand. The other was smaller, but sufficient to pierce a Walker’s skull. He’d done it many times before. If they weren’t bundled so closely together, he’d probably stand a better chance. He’d knifed enough by now to know what he was doing. 

A growl from behind him and a smirk from above was the only warning Rick had of a stray Walker approaching, probably drawn to the sound of his gunfire. He dispatched it quickly with his knife and came back around the cluster of trees. He needed to keep in mind that noise was his enemy here. 

Or perhaps not. It was unlikely that any noise he made now would be any worse than the shots he’d already fired, but he could use it to his advantage. He wished he had firecrackers or something so he could draw the herd away and pick them off one at a time. He’d have to settle the only other noisemaker he had in range. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Rick asked, letting his anger and frustration show. “I’m helping you guys! Why try and kill me?”

Joe laughed, then shouted back. “You’re a shit hunter, and you’ve been eating up our food without contribution for weeks. You’re useless.” The questions were pointless, Rick already knew Joe’s motivations, the ones he said and the ones he didn’t, but he was pleased that the man fell for it and made himself known to the approaching Walkers, several of whom branched off to shuffle towards the new source of racket. Now there were eight heading for him. 

Jogging forward, Rick jammed his knife into the eye socket of the nearest just as it was entering the clearing, not waiting for it to drop before skittering backward a few steps to keep the rest away from him. He leapt at the next, taking it down and immediately turning and kicking another hard in the chest so it stumbled into some of the others. Rick took the next two down one after the other before backing up. His next strike swung wide, glancing off bone, and he cursed, kicking the Walker down before moving back again.

His spine slammed into a trunk and he stole a glance over his shoulder to see he’d backed up into his original spot. Three Walkers were on him a heartbeat later and he struggled to keep them all at bay, twisting and ducking to avoid the snapping jaws. Finally, he managed to loop his foot beneath the middle attacker and bring it to the ground. It tried to grab at his ankles, but Rick brought his heel down hard until he felt the skull give beneath it. From there, he jerked back to raise both his knives and bring them up at the same time, piercing through two jaws and into their brains from below.

Rick didn’t have a moment to relax because there were several more Walkers coming towards him now, having lost interest in Joe’s inaccessible position and drawn by Rick’s vulnerability. He went on the offensive, slashing his way through a wave of bodies, aiming for the eye or the ear or the jaw. He lost track of how many were left as he disposed of them, a pile forming at his feet that the newest were forced to step on in order to reach him. 

When it was finally over, Rick stood panting over them all, counting out more than the fourteen bodies he’d expected strewn across the clearing. Several others must have lumbered in to join the fray from the treeline. He scanned the area for any more, and, seeing none, turned his attention to the immediate danger on the stand above him. 

“Hold up!” Rick gasped, raising his hands into the air level with his head and trying to think quickly. Joe looked surprised enough that he’d survived the trap laid out for him, but that hadn’t lasted long enough to generate even a hesitance between the last Walker falling and the detestable hunter raising his gun to point at Rick’s head. “You don’t want to kill me.”

Joe chuckled before lowering his weapon to rest on the wooden bar in front of him, making a big show of it. They both knew that he had the high ground and ammo and there wasn’t a chance Rick was going to take him out, even if it was just the two of them left now. The sun was still high in the sky, and Joe had all the time in the world to toy with him. “And why’s that?” 

“You shoot me, and Daryl’s going to know it wasn’t these Walkers that took me out.”

Joe snorted. “So I should what? Let you go, and you’ll promise never to come back?” 

Rick shook his head. “Just take me back, and I’ll promise not to tell Daryl.”

“You’re a lot stupider than you look.” The hunter gripped his gun again, and brought it back up, bored with his argument. Rick raised his hands higher and hurried to get to his point.

“Just hear me out, okay? If you shoot me, he’ll go off the rails, we both know that. He’ll attack you, and he sure as hell will never work with your group again, and you’ll be forced to kill him.” Joe looked distinctly unimpressed with his simple logical reasoning, and Rick took a few cautious steps forward, trying to keep eye contact to show his integrity while avoiding the bodies piled at his feet. “I tell him what happened today, and it’s the same outcome. Keeping my mouth shut is the only way to keep both of us alive, and it’s the only way you’ll keep Daryl’s trust.”

“Me and Daryl, we’re not the sort that trust people, even before the world ended. It’s why it had to be this way, so he could see for himself that I wasn’t involved.” Rick knew that that was why Joe hadn’t outright shot him before now, and why it had been the production that it was. Joe’s interest in Daryl apparently warranted staging a crime scene, so the tracks and the bodies and the injuries would all show that this was just a herd attack and had nothing to do with any living person. It was the only way he could kill Rick and keep Daryl. “And I sure as shit don’t trust you.”

“You don’t have to trust me. Just trust that I’m motivated by self-preservation. Right now and for all foreseeable future, the only thing that’s keeping me alive is my willingness to never mention this incident again.” For the first time since observing Joe and Daryl interact, Rick prayed that the obsession was as deep as he’d previously feared. He knew he was a loose end at this point now, in addition to the problem he was before. Rick watched his face carefully to see the older man waffling over the decision. Was his interest in Daryl going to be enough? “You can always kill us later.” He added.

Licking his lips thoughtfully, Joe lowered his weapon again, leaning forward to rest his arms over the bar where his gun had been a moment before. “He could always act like he doesn't know, wait for the right moment.”  

“You think he could fool you?” Rick asked cautiously, banking on Joe’s arrogance to guide him to the desired answer. He held his breath. It was a tightrope he was standing on because Joe was dangerously observant. It was only because of a willful ignorance when it came to Daryl that they’d gotten away with breaking his rules already.

“You’re right. He’s no actor.” Tucking away his gun, Joe started down the ladder of the tree stand. “Come on. Let’s get you some more ammo. Can’t have you coming back empty handed.”

 Rick reluctantly accompanied his would-be murderer up the hill and away from the pile of the dead, still unsure if he was in the clear. He stole a few glances out of the corner of his eye before deciding that talking might be an easier way to gauge his relative safety. “Besides him being able to hunt, what is it about Daryl that makes him worth all this fuss?”

“Surprised you of all people would ask.” Rick shrugged, waiting until Joe continued instead of replying. He didn’t bother addressing Joe’s implications. He wasn’t the first in camp to make assumptions about them. “Daryl’s a natural leader, but he’s able to put that aside and follow when it’s in his best interest. He knows how to take care of himself. He’s the sort that just does what it takes to survive without getting hung up on the details. He’s got his own code, same as me, and I could use someone who keeps loyalty right up there with his honesty.” Joe explained. “I think he’ll be loyal to me so long as I don’t give him a reason not to, same as you, and keeping him around will be worth it in the long run.” 

Rick wanted to laugh. The urge bubbled up within him to bend over and slap his own knee and release the tense air between them. Joe’s obsession with Daryl had been keeping them alive for weeks, but the man didn’t know the first thing about the object of his affection. Not one trait in his list of admirable attributes was accurate to what Rick knew about Daryl, except that he did abide by some sort of moral code that included loyalty to his terrible brother and Rick himself, though that loyalty was certainly not extended to Joe. 

Daryl knew how to take care of himself in a strictly physical sense, but he either couldn’t or wouldn’t put his own survival above Rick’s, a quality that seemed to extend to Sophia and others. He seemed entirely clueless about how to look after his own mental and emotional well-being. His friend was also not able to follow through on killing people to get them out of there, primarily, Rick thought, because he was no leader.  Daryl had explicitly stated that he had no interest in leading, and he lacked the confidence in himself to make those decisions except in the case of immediate need. He was content to submit and follow Rick’s orders, and that was clearly a result of a trust Joe believed Daryl couldn’t have. Rick was certain that if he’d been alongside Daryl as his friend was struggling to take the shot, he would have done as instructed without hesitance.

 Daryl was the actor that Joe claimed he wasn’t in crafting what Joe saw, holding up a mirror to Joe’s self-serving behavior with his quiet, placating responses, and inadvertently pitting himself as the perfect partner for the leader. He appeared as everything Joe liked about himself in combination with his own capabilities and loyalty. Hell, Joe’s desire to keep him around and alive undoubtedly was largely influenced by a sense of self-preservation. 

Rick squashed the hysterical laughter before it could emerge and tried to move away from the topic. “Don’t suppose it will make much of a difference how things play out with the food shortages.”

“Yeah, with everything up in the air, it might not be a bad idea to keep you around.” Joe quirked an eyebrow at him, smirking like Rick’s mental laughter had been contagious. “We’ll be relocating tomorrow. There’s a place not too far away that’s accepting new people.”

 

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**Author's Note:**

> Major recognition for EpitomyofShyness for helping me clean up this story a bit and encouraging me to write more on it. I'd be lost without you.


End file.
